Bad Faith
by cmdragon
Summary: The tragic comedy of Jezibell Malfoy and her family during the second rise of the Dark Lord. But caution for nothing in this world is so that is so. There is always a reason and there is always a way, if you are brave enough to look for it.
1. Tall Ugly Weed

Tall Ugly Weed

_Narcissa Malfoy_

The shriek of the train whistle pierced through the engine exhaust and smoke on platform 9 ¾ as the Hogwarts Express prepared for departure. Students, families and ticket collectors milled about in the most disorganized fashion, children shoving and pushing each other to call dibs on the best seats while trying to be heard over the fervent cries of mothers telling them they forgot to take their school bag. Owl cages and cat carriers whacked elbows, giving first year parents an excuse to vent their anxiety and someone kept losing their toad. There was a bit of a traffic jam going on at the entrance to the secret platform, but every smelly brat in the British Isles seemed to be present, so no harm done.

Narcissa Malfoy winced as the whistle broke through the hustle, clean shot to her tender eardrum that rang moments after it ended. Her son always chose the compartment closest to the head of train and she was more than happy to encourage his choices, despite the hazards of the area. Of course being the wife to one of the most aspiring aristocrats in wizarding England meant she should have fewer hazards to deal with than some other unfortunate mothers. Should.

"Where have you been, Dobby? I ordered you to help us with the baggage at least ten minutes ago."

The fumbling waste of skin and gristle that was the family elf popped into existence where, by a look at the precise clock above the platform, he should have been _eleven_ minutes prior.

"Dobby is truly sorry, dear mistress. Dobby was –"

"I don't care where Dobby was wasting my time. I care that he is taking my Draco's new broomstick on to the luggage compartment over number five. _Now_."

"Yes, mistress," piped the elf, taking the silver plated broomstick case from her with humility and toddled up the steps of the train, knocking into some exiting older students as he went. Really, that elf was a hopeless case.

"I can't wait to see the look on Potter's face when I show him the new brooms," gloated Draco from his trolley. His gray eyes glinted with malice at the prospect of his schoolyard nemesis facing Lucius's purchase. "The little dweeb won't stand a chance!"

"Yes, well, do take care. I'll send some of your favorite sweets within the week." said Narcissa, dipping down to kiss her beloved son on the cheek. Oh, how he looks so much like his father - now going off to school, destined to become a great climber through life. Poetic, really, just wonderful to watch this young man in the making growing into the Malfoy name she married to. If Narcissa ever permitted herself to cry in public, now would be an opportune moment. It would be the second time for her to shed dramatic tear in only a few months, though the first occasion was for a very different cause.

She turned from her prideful joy with resolution to face the other child, a sterner look crossing her fair features. Staring down at the bowed head of her daughter, she did her best to make a lasting impression on this one.

"Now you behave yourself, young lady."

"Yes, Mother."

"I don't want any funny business. Not like last time. Your father was kind enough to give you a second chance. Don't expect a third. _Do you understand me_?"

"Yes, Mother."

"I will write to you as soon as we hear you've made Slytherin."

Jezibell looked up then, wearing the hard expression that was forever set on her young face since the expulsion. It was such an ugly look, considering the smiling dimpled girl Narcissa waved goodbye to a year ago.

"Of course, Mother."

"Come ON, Sis!" yelled Draco, already on the stairs to the express. Dobby reappeared briefly to continue apologies for lateness. Narcissa showed mercy, telling him such a performance wasn't necessary (King's Cross isn't the ideal setting for a demonstration of how incompetent your house elf is) and ordered him back to the manor, reminding him to inform Lucius of his tardiness.

Jezibell had managed her bags independently while this exchange took place. Narcissa turned her attention back in time to watch the girl's familiar, Emmy, follow her aboard with a stately hiss and a rattle from her tail. The door to the compartments shut, and the window in the nearest opened so Narcissa could see Draco in the few moments before the train left. Other children peered through the glass as well, but he nudged them out of the way to dominate the space. Jezibell was only half visible in a corner of the frame, and her arms were held in front of her, presumably holding the cat.

The whistle sounded once more before the express started up. Draco waved enthusiastically from the window as the train gathered speed. Jezibell didn't smile, didn't wave, didn't anything but stare past her mother as if she were only one of the masses now waving and jostling the upper-class woman aside. Narcissa stepped back from crowd and a worry line marred her pale face. She sighed inwardly. What was she going _to do_ with that child?

* * *

_Hogwarts Express, September First_

"Hurry up!" Draco impatiently drummed the dividing glass while Jezibell stowed her luggage. "Come on, they're probably already there. Its number five - I _told _them to be there."

Jezibell sighed irritably, jerking her vision from the melting faces. Her brother half pulled her along the corridor to compartment five. Given her choice, Jezibell would be on the other end of the galaxy. Even having to condone with possible lack of oxygen, she was sure it was a better deal. But she had agreed to meet his little friends - her little friends, she amended. This year was supposed to be a fresh start in her existence as a Malfoy. No use griping about it.

Though griping was very tempting when Draco slid open the door to reveal his chosen cohorts. There was a girl with a scrunched nose who spared half a breath on her name – Pansy Parkinson - before squealing over how 'adorable' Emmy was (Taking in measure the serpentine-felid's gargoylesque features, it's possible Parkinson was being ironic, but unlikely) A couple of fairly repulsive goons who Draco called Crabbe and Goyle (Scab and Boil, Jezibell revised) and an assortment of other familiar idiots who she took along with starving mosquitoes. Draco gave the vague introductions.

"This is Jezibell. She's my sister, here from Durmstrang and she's entering in our year. No, she's not an exchange student, Crabbe, you twit. You know Hogwarts cut the program a few years ago."

The starving mosquitoes were smarter than they looked. None asked about the evaded subject of Durmstrang and why exactly Jezibell was here instead. Draco ordered Scab and Boil to store her bags and Jezibell took the window seat next to Theodore Nott. Previously, it had been his view and he turned his palled cheek from her sullenly.

It was dull as nails. Really old and crusty ones that have been pounded in wood so many times the pointy edge is non-existent, and now they sit at the back of the tool box - failures to their kind; serving as homes for the little insects that crawl inside the holes from the rust, a testament to the nails' insignificance. After a mere five minutes of deconstructing obscure metaphors, Jezibell was desperate for a diversion. None of the Slytherins really wanted to associate with her; they were just licking the Malfoy twins' boots in hope of free lunches. They should save their spittle. All anyone would taste courtesy of Jezibell was overpriced leather polish. Lord, she needed to get out of here. Emmy flicked her tail against Jezibell's left leg to call her to attention. She glanced down at her hybrid.

"_Distraction time._" said the parselmouth feline and flicked her tail again, this time at the window. Jezibell got the idea.

"Hey look! Is that a manticore?"

In the scuffle to the window seat, Jezibell and Emmy slipped out of the wretched compartment and ran down the corridor, not caring that she was leaving her bags behind, just needing to put as much distance between herself and the Slytherins as possible. When she got to the end of the corridor, she didn't hesitate before scooping up Emmy in her arms and jumping the gap between coaches into the next. Sprinting down half the train length, she took a glance over her shoulder to make sure none had followed them when -

"Look out!"

"Aauugh!"

"Mureeiow!"

Jezibell lay flat on the musty carpet that was the floor. She had run into some guy who had been bent double in the middle of the hallway.

"Ouch." groaned the person sprawled beside her. He pushed himself up before holding out a helpful hand for her. He has a round face, kind eyes and neatly parted hair that he had done his best to muss up even before the fall. His smile was sheepish though their colliding was likely her fault. She really needed to watch where she was going. Facial muscles fell to neutral and managed to stay that way even as a large toad plopped onto her stomach. The boy went pink and grabbed his pet before helping Jezibell up. Emmy stayed on the floor, picking herself up. The familiar had a knack for knowing when Jezibell wanted her inconspicuous.

"I'm Neville Longbottom, Gryffindor." He informed her after the obligatory apologies as they set off down the corridor. Jezibell realized odds of finding a niche to herself and Emmy were unlikely this late in the ride, and Neville seemed good company as any. Better, seeing as he now had an obligation to accommodate her. "What's your name?"

Jezibell hesitated. She knew what his reaction would be if she told her surname, even the first one was a big giveaway. Really, how many parents would name their kid _Jezibell_?

"Abigail," That was harmless enough.

"Nice to meet you. My compartments over here, I was out because Trevor escaped," Neville held up the toad with a proud sum of warts from his pocket. Trevor immediately gave fierce kick, the amphibian equivalent of a rogue stallion attempting to throw its rider. "He does that."

"You should get a leash," Jezibell hung outside Neville's compartment.

"Do they have those for toads?" He puzzled, zipping Trevor into a pocket on his bag that had mesh so he could breathe.

"Wouldn't doubt it," She shrugged inside and Neville slid the door shut. The duo sat down across each other, both gluing their sides to the window, just in case. Emmy curled up for a nap next to Jezibell. She had a feeling they were going to be here a while. The getting-to-know-you Q&A continued.

"So, are you new this year?"

"You could say that."

"Any clue to what house you'll be in?"

"Not really, my family's been all over the place at Hogwarts. I'll take what I get."

That one had a feasible seed of truth. Jezibell did have a few odd relatives one her mother's side that had been in houses besides Slytherin - more than a few, if truth be told. Her parents liked to think of it as a rarity, but it seemed every other generation produced at least one black sheep. But no one expected her to keep with that particular family tradition.

"Well, I hope you're a lion."

"No, it's true."

"That's not what I –"

"I know," she smirked.

He smiled at that.

They had fun in Compartment twenty-nine, chatting about Quidditch, what the lessons were like and the chocolate frog cards they had collected. Emmy slept peacefully on. Jezibell carefully monitored the conversation so it didn't stray any near her family, but Neville didn't pry. She recalled Draco laughing about a Longbottom over the holidays who was a bumbling idiot, but Jezibell didn't get that impression at all upon meeting this one. It was something of a personal treat, to pretend to have a budding friendship with this Gryffindor before the Sorting Hat nipped it clean. When the food trolley came she decided what the heck and bought lunch for them.

"No, it's alright," he protested, "I'll take half."

Jezibell almost laughed aloud at his eagerness to help. This certainly was different from hanging out with the Slytherins. She shook her head calmly, handing the money over, "I owe you one."

Not long after that, Trevor lost himself again and they turned the compartment upside down trying to find him before Neville spotted him snoozing next to Emmy in a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans wrapper. They had a few people stop by. More Gryffindors that Neville called his friends, but seemed to have minored in Longbottoms at the Draco Malfoy School of Thought. She played relatively nice for his sake, but nobody stayed long. Draco never came looking for her, so it was in a cheerful mood, that Jezibell bade goodbye to Neville to snatch back her luggage and join the first years on the boats to the castle.

* * *

_Ronald Weasley_

Ron let his trunk fall next to the castle doors wearily. The day so far seemed like he was living one of those fortunately/unfortunately stories Bill used to read. Bloody hell, did he used to think they were _funny?_ Let us review from the top.

It looks as if they are going to be late for train when they leave the house that morning. Fortunately, Dad owns a magically modified car to drive them to the station with. Unfortunately, Ginny forgets her diary, wasting time they didn't have, and Mum refuses to use the invisibility booster to fly over traffic. Fortunately, somehow they get to the station on time. Unfortunately, the gate closes on Harry and Ron while everybody else got in. Fortunately, said flying car was perfectly available for use and Ron and Harry proceed to fly themselves to Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the invisibility booster is faulty and the car gets tired after several miles so high in the air. Fortunately, they still manage to get the car to work and then zoom off to Hogwarts. Unfortunately, when they get to Hogwarts the engine cuts completely and the car takes a nose dive. Fortunately they miss the wall and hit a tree. Unfortunately, this particular tree skived off its anger management classes and hits back. Fortunately, they escape alive and with the car mostly intact. Unfortunately, Ron's wand is not so much intact and the car abandons them for the Forbidden Forest, so Harry and Ron have to hike up the hilly lawn to get to the castle, bruised cold and tired from their yoyo adventure.

"I bet the feast had already started," Ron said, adding hunger to the unfortunate list as he looked through the bright window at the start of term feast that was just getting underway. Taking a closer look, the food wasn't laid out yet and Professor McGonagall was up front with a large hat, "Hey, Harry! Come look – it's the Sorting!"

Harry was quickly at his side and they both scanned the throng of first years, looking for the distinctive Weasley red hair of Ginny. Ron found her quick, chatting to another girl who was a dirty blond under her Hogwarts hat.

"Hey, it's that girl," Harry recognized someone else.

"Huh?"

"See the taller one, back row with the cat?"

"Oh, yeah. Wasn't she in Diagon Alley?"

Now that Harry pointed her out, Ron did recognize the haughty face of another witch. In Flourish and Blotts, she'd been with the Malfoys but standing aside from them with her nose in a large book so they hadn't gotten a good look at her. Lucius Malfoy hadn't said she was anybody special, so Ron forgot about her afterword.

"I think she's related to Malfoy," Harry went on, "maybe a cousin or something. I saw her with them in Knockturn alley."

"Bet she's a Slytherin."

As they continued to watch her, girl looked out of place to Ron. She was quite a bit taller than the others and what he could see of her face betrayed none of the nervousness usually shown in first years. She simply looked more mature; twelve, possibly thirteen years old, but not eleven. As Harry pointed out, there was a sleek coated cat winding around her legs that was built like an S curve, the neck way too long and skinny. Were cats really able to twist all the way around like that? It also had weird markings, diamond shaped patterns along its back that reminded Ron of a picture of a snake he once saw, the kind with little shakers on the tail. It gave him the creeps.

The dirty blond was up. The Hat took no more than ten seconds with her. Black trimming changed to blue and the girl was accepted to the Ravenclaw table with the customary grand applause from her chosen house. The Sorting was always fun in the curious way of seeing who fit where. Like horoscopes in the Prophet, but more important. How the Hat could get the perfect measure of people when they were just eleven was something Ron never got. When you're a skinny, shivering snippet what's there to go by? Brave and daring hadn't been the ways he would have described himself at his Sorting. But after last year with the Philosopher's Stone and all, he figured the Hat must be genius in figuring people. No doubt the Ravenclaw girl was just the logical A-type her house called for. Ron found himself tapping the window pane with the Ravenclaws, applauding for the Hat too.

"Here she goes," said Harry as the Malfoy Girl marched purposefully to the stool where the Sorting Hat sat. How she could see where she was going with all that dark hair in her eyes? She slipped the Hat on with steady hands and sat completely still, displaying the strange confidence while awaiting her verdict. Though Harry and Ron couldn't hear what the hat cried, they knew something was wrong.

"Hang on," said Ron, "Why aren't they all clapping?"

"I dunno."

"Wait...hold it...she's not, is she...Oh no."

Yes, it was true. The pair watched as the Malfoy girl rose from the stool, handed the frayed hat to McGonagall and walked over to the _Gryffindor _table to take her seat. The students nearest to her scooted unnecessarily far away, as though not to dirty themselves. There were a few smatterings of palms, mostly from staff, but many people were just gaping in shock. Ron was with them outside the hall. A Malfoy in Gryffindor. Gryffindor. A Gryffindor. This did not compute.

"There's an empty chair at the staff table," muttered Harry.

"What?"

"Where's Snape?"

Ron refocused his attention, and sure enough – no greasy potions master at the head table.

"Maybe he's ill." Ron wondered, hoping this would be the fortunate cap on their night.

"Maybe he's left because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again."

"Maybe he's been sacked! I mean everybody hates him."

"Or maybe," said a third, terribly familiar voice from behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

Ron froze, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the vacated staff chair and understanding why it was so. Unfortunately, his day was about to get a lot worse.

* * *

_Second Floor Bathroom, Evening_

Jezibell's head was in a sink.

She had walked briskly out of the great hall as soon as Professor Dumbledore finished his speech. The students and staff eyed her as she sped-walked to the nearest corridor, already the pariah. That was fast. She had wandered around for at least half an hour, alone having sent Emmy ahead to stake out her new dormitory and tried to make sense of the changing staircases, looking for a sanctuary. Gryffindor. A Gryffindor. This wasn't what she was promised.

She twisted the tap with slick fingers and leaned into the spout. With her face pressed against the cool porcelain a twinkle caught Jezibell's eye: a tiny snake. Curled gently on the side of the tap, the ruby eyes set in the carving looked benignly up at her. Jezibell relaxed some. It was just like all the baubles and elaborately sculptured door frames lining her home. There was something in the subtle curvature and intertwining shapes that calmed her. Like in one of those Celtic designs, the Eternal Knot. You could follow the connections and smooth transitions of color around forever.

Gazing at the familiar twisting lines she allowed herself to examine the situation. Tomorrow morning would herald the torturous school year she was condemned to, the expressions on the entire student body secured this fact. And the owl would come. Jezibell didn't know what she say would say in reply. You can't just ask to be transferred out of your chosen house. She wasn't sure if she wanted that anyway.

She wanted to wash her face. It felt sweaty and warm. She jerked the handle with the snake more roughly, irked when efforts for pouring water reaped nothing but sore fingertips. The rubies glimmered and mocked her. Stupid place. Best wizarding school in Europe and they can't even manage the plumbing.

Jezibell wanted an escape, a way out, some other option besides tomorrow.

"What are you doing here?" said a voice.

Jezibell turned out of the sink in surprise. She thought all the other students had gone to bed and was shocked when a pearly white girl floated from the nearest cubicle.

"Are you deaf?" The ghost girl continued rudely. Jezibell already hated her voice, high pitched and nasal, "I said, '_what are you doing here?_"

"I'm wallowing in misery," said Jezibell irritably, not the mood for explaining her real problems to nosy ghosts. "Go stick your head back in the toilet."

Ghost girl let out a wailing shriek.

"MISERY? HAH! You don't know what misery is! Here I am sitting in a toilet stall for all my days, teased and bullied by any student who comes along! Fat Myrtle, stupid Myrtle, miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle!"

"That's lovely!" yelled Jezibell acidly matching Myrtle's tone, "At least you're dealing with the truth. You don't know what I have to face tomorrow. My mother's letter will be straight from my nightmares! I'll be lucky if it's not a Howler! I can't be in Gryffindor! I didn't want this. My father will hate me even more than he does. But I don't care about _that_. Just not this year, not _again_. I'm supposed to be getting a second chance, not a _RERUN_! IT'S NOT MY FAULT!

She found herself out of breath from her little outburst. She leaned on the sink and swore a low oath in parseltongue, annoyed with herself, with Myrtle and this world. A creaking grinding started and the sink began to vibrate. Jezibell leapt off it and backed up to the nearest cubicle, stepping through Myrtle as she did, and watched as the sink transformed into a passage way. A tunnel leading straight down.

"_Help me," _it said. No, that was wrong, a tunnel can't talk but whatever was in it did. It was a low rumbling voice that murmured from the depths quietly enough that Jezibell could have easily feigned its nonexistence if she wished. She did wish, very much so, but curiosity propelled her forth a step. It responded, as though that one step had given everything away.

"_Help me_! _Master, feed me! I hear you, I smell you. I need you!"_ the darkness spoke louder, more urgently. Its wet beastly sound repulsed Jezibell, made blood cry in her veins and nerves buzz from the moment it touched her eardrum. But the way it begged so desperately made her conscience push that aside. It was plaintively starving, a puppy yearning for its master who had tossed it carelessly in the gutter. It needed her. Another step.

"Go on, then."

Myrtle was staring at her with fish eyes, waiting for her to proceed into the dark abyss. Her dare rang through Jezibell's memory like an unending church bell. Same comment just like last year, but that time had a very different context. Or did it, really? She remembered her answer too, the one that landed her at Hogwarts, started the whole mess.

"_No_!"

She took her two steps back, turned and walked to the door, focusing on breathing as her defiant 'No' echoed around the bathroom. No messes this year. Slytherin or Gryffindor, she still had that choice. She would see to tomorrow – bitterly so, but she would. No one need know of the dark escape route she'd discovered for herself. As she pulled the handle of the door to close it, Jezibell heard the hidden chamber and its beast creaking and clunking shut.

* * *

_Hermione __Granger_

Everything was perfect. Hermione got up at precisely 7:00 am, brushed her teeth with her favorite _Spare Mint_ toothpaste, brushed her hair for exactly five minutes, packed all of her schoolbooks in her bag, alphabetized by author (Voyages with Vampires wouldn't fit, so it went under her arm to reread at breakfast) and walked happily downstairs to meet Harry and Ron for the first day of lessons.

She met them at the Gryffindor table already eating toast with eggs. Hermione remembered the car incident, of which she heartily disapproved. To demonstrate this point she went straight to Voyages with Vampires without speaking to them.

Over the cover of her book she spotted the new Malfoy. She was eating alone at the very end of the table except for the hideous cat that tailed her everywhere like a line of brown baby ducks. This girl was incredible. She had been at Hogwarts not twelve hours and had already utterly trolled the first impressions test. She had walked out on dinner, standing up as Professor Dumbledore sat down from pre-feast speech and tramped with her boots echoing awkwardly out of the hall. Nobody had tried to call her back and by the time everybody got over the shock that someone could stand to be so disrespectful, to the _Headmaster_ no less, she was gone. The Malfoy girl reappeared long after they had all unpacked in the Girl's Dormitory and instead of listening to Hermione, who gave her a well-deserved lecture on curfew, she started whispering to her cat. This cat Hermione was developing a dislike for as the moment they were let into the tower it had curled up on the bed closest to the window, which had previously been hers, and refused to budge.

Parvati and Lavender filled Hermione in on the girl's history. She was Draco Malfoy's twin sister who'd been sent away to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts, got expelled three-quarters through the year and Dumbledore, for mad reasons of his own, decided Hogwarts would be a second chance for her. Then the pair started to formulate hypotheses and infer gossip about the new arrival, some of which Hermione found a far-fetched. Really, a cat-snake _hybrid_? Simply ludicrous. Everyone knows breeding animals magically got banned ages ago. But the tale would be around the school by lunch along with a barrage of others. That's a lot of unpleasantness to handle on your first day. Hermione decided to be lenient about the curfew. The girl probably wasn't familiar yet with the ways of Hogwarts – she came from a foreign school after all. The performance at the feast might have been pure nerves and she probably got lost on the way to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione remembered how it took her a whole five days before she memorized the routes to all her classes. Someone should help her around, at least for today.

"So that's her?" said Ron and by his tone they all knew exactly to whom he was referring. He stopped shoveling down eggs to look at the Malfoy girl with interest. "She looks strange."

"Yes, very strange." said Hermione, forgetting about not talking to them. "She got expelled from Durmstrang, did you know? I read about it in Wizarding Schools of Europe_,_ it's supposed to be school that's really into the Dark Arts," she added for Harry's benefit.

"That's probably why everyone's avoiding her," reasoned Harry, "but I suppose she can't be worse than her brother."

"No reason to jump to conclusions," Ron served himself several links of sausage, "Seamus told me she gave the finger to Dumbledore after his speech."

"That's not true, she only left the hall." Hermione said, now finding the truth far less scandalous by comparison. She looked down the table at the girl, measuring carefully, and then stood up.

"Where're you going?" asked Ron curiously. He then followed her gaze to the Malfoy girl. "You're not seriously going to _talk_ to her, are you?"

He was more impressed than appalled and Hermione smiled.

"Just to welcome her to the school, she might be friendly."

"Yeah, and History of Magic might be my favorite subject this year."

Hermione ignored this immature muttering and walked the length of the table to where the Malfoy girl sat. Hermione felt thoughtless for forgetting her name, but that's all anybody else called her. She knew it was a J-something. J-something didn't look up at Hermione but continued to stir her porridge moodily, occasionally giving bits of bacon to her cat. The cat did noticed Hermione however, giving her an insolent stare. Hermione shivered and reminded herself that in the wizarding world most cats were more intelligent than muggles were meant to believe.

"Hello," Only when Hermione began her greeting did the girl look up and Hermione wished she hadn't. The girl possessed the most devilish glare even though her eyes were mostly covered by bangs. It gave the impression of an animal peering out at you from a deep cave.

"My name is Hermione Granger, and you're Jessica, right?"

"Jezibell." The girl gave the correction in a grated monotone. The cat lashed its tail and Hermione saw that it was topped with beads that rattled. She stepped back.

"Oh, um, sorry?" It came out like a question and _Jezibell_ continued to stare in that unnerving way at her, "I suppose we got off on the wrong foot yesterday, with your tardiness and all, though I suppose you couldn't have known about the eight pm curfew, being new."

Hermione paused to see if Jezibell might want to say something, possibly about _why _she had been late or at least a confirmation that Hermione was right, but the girl volunteered nothing. If it was anybody else, Hermione would have assumed they were shy. Her mother told her she had a very good 'stage presence' and a tendency to overwhelm people, but there was something about this personage that told Hermione bashfulness wasn't the issue.

"Well, you came from Durmstrang, right? I read that it's really up north. You had fur capes as part your uniforms, didn't you? With red robes underneath, right? _I_ personally think that color would make you all very conspicuous on holidays in muggle villages. I also heard that they teach, well, they have pretty advanced courses, but you may not be completely in second year terms yet. You were ex, um you _left_ about mid third term, right? You were just learning basic inanimate Transfiguration, then. I'm top of the class for my grade and have my new Spellman's Syllabary almost memorized. I would like to help you catch up to where we are –"

"No, you wouldn't."

"Excuse me?" Hermione was quite taken a back at this bald statement, making it a total of four words fromJezibell Malfoy since she arrived.

"You don't want to be here. You're just giving this spiel for the bragging rights. I don't care how much you think you know about my life any more than you want to give this interview. Thanks for your time, don't waste anymore of mine. Take your greetings elsewhere."

"Well - !"

"Nice to meet you, Hermione Granger," The haughty tone gave the impression that it was anything but. "Goodbye."

Jezibell Malfoy turned back to her porridge and the feline licked its piece of bacon with an air of satisfaction. Its tongue was forked. Ludicrous. Hermione stalked back to Ron and Harry not quite believing her eardrum was fully functioning.

The boys must have gathered her mood, but Ron still couldn't resist asking.

"So, how'd it go?" He spoke through a mouthful of eggs, but for once Hermione didn't comment on the fact.

"She was so rude! I was required to announce myself before being graced with her attention, and then she stared at me the whole time as if I'd tossed her ugly cat down a well, hardly speaking. No wonder she's eating alone, she has the social skills of a cactus."

"She could be just shy," offered Harry.

"That's what _I_ thought, but then she gave me this mini-lecture on why she thought I came over and flat out asked me to go away. Who _does _that? I was just offering to help her with whatever she might have problems with and she rebuffed me completely. It's beyond poor manners, it's just plain insensitive."

For some reason Ron was amused by this revelation. Harry kept his nose in his pumpkin juice goblet, which conveniently hid his expression. Hermione turned away from the both of them and tried to resume her reading. Concentration proved impossible. She kept remembering the hollow stare Jezibell Malfoy had given her. It was the sort of look that was scientifically designed to frighten you to core.

Ron gathered himself, "Well, we already knew that being a giant prick runs in the family and I could have told you she was a weird one, even for a Malfoy. That foreign school's turned out all sorts of criminals and the Headmaster used to run with You-Know-Who."

"So did Lucius Malfoy, making them old chums and giving any kid of his all the favoring they could hope for," Harry thought aloud. "What sort of thing would she have to do to get expelled?"

"Probably something really illegal, you know, even for them," said Ron excitedly, "and Durmstrang's is slightly advanced over Hogwarts, Dad told me. They're really secretive too, with their teaching methods and such. No one knows what they get up to over there_." _

They turned in unison to the sight of Jezibell Malfoy picking at her porridge with new apprehension. How horrible a thing would someone have to do to be expelled from a Dark Arts academy?

"What if she tries the same thing here?" asked Harry, staring determined at Jezibell Malfoy as if he wanted to stop her already.

"Maybe we could keep an eye on her, like we did Snape last year!" suggested Ron a little too eagerly, Hermione felt. As if on cue, Jezibell Malfoy looked up then in their direction. Her dark eyes peeked through the heavy bangs in what Hermione imagined to be a threatening way.

"That girl has nothing whatever to offer Hogwarts but trouble," Hermione said decidedly, "If we make her feel unwelcome enough she may want to go back to where she came from or think we would be able to handle whatever she did to Durmstrang."

"Hear, hear." said Ron, pleased by her statement and turned back to his eggs. Hermione however kept her eyes on Malfoy, waiting for her to give them that glare again. Instead the cat turned its head and somehow zeroed in on her across the crowded breakfast table with unlawful snaky eyes. It let out a low guttural hiss.

* * *

_The Great Hall, September Second_

The owl hadn't come. Jezibell was genuinely shocked. When she was expelled from Durmstrang her father had apparated to the grounds at once. Surely this was just as heinous a crime. Was it possible her parents were so dismayed that her mother decided to unofficially disown her? Whatever the reason, apprehension was making her feel sick. That could be just the porridge, though. She had forgotten what British boarding school food tasted like.

Someone else did receive a Howler that morning. Weasley Mother Hen announced her son's shame on the family for flying a car to Hogwarts for the whole breakfast crowd to hear. Jezibell didn't blame her. Arthur Weasley's Muggle protection act wasn't going to be helped with stunts like this. Father should be pleased, after all the attention the Act was getting in Wizengamot this incident might be an opportunity to shoot it down. Draco certainly was. Across the hall, he laughed along with The Pansy, Scab and Boil, pulling faces at the Weasley siblings to embarrass them further. Though the insults were aimed at the head of the table, far from the tumbleweed playground Jezibell claimed home, she couldn't help but feel some of the callings were intended for her ears too. Fine. Jezibell wasn't sure what reaction she expected from Draco, but the indirect manner didn't come as a surprise.

She was grateful for the Weasley drama in any case. A flying car provided the perfect distraction from the New Kid and with the kind of attention Jezibell's presence attracted so far – pointed fingers and wary looks – the airborne Ford Anglia was more than welcome. The resident celebrity, Harry Potter, was rumored to be involved with the crash too, and with rumors like that the dishers of dirt had their hands full. Jezibell knew the cover couldn't last, but for the first few days it was useful to have the social spotlight directed elsewhere.

Jezibell walked alone to Herbology, following the other second year Gryffindors after receiving her schedule from the tightlipped deputy headmistress. Pets weren't in the classes normally so Emmy had to go back to the common room. Shame. She would have liked someone to talk to. Her eyes roved her new classmates randomly. Two boys were talking about Quidditch and few girls were gossiping, throwing a look at her every so often. So far they lived up to her low expectations. She spotted the boy she had met on the train, Neville. He nearly fell, tripping on the toe of some statue. Jezibell came dangerously close to smiling. There was a hope that maybe he, at least, would be her friend, but the way he determinedly looked away as she approached him squashed it flat. He was upset because of the lies, but there wasn't much to be done for it now. Those tales weren't told on accident. On the train she'd known the friendship could never, would never make it beyond compartment twenty-five but still felt a small prick of disappointment just the same. She firmly shook herself mentally. What is is and if he wants to be angry at a few lies that's his business. Get a grip.

She saw a trio making their way up the step and recognized them as Harry Potter, Ronald Receiver of Howler Weasley and the Muggle Girl, Hermione Granger, who had the nerve to speak to her. The latter's character every bit as obnoxious as Draco emphatically belated over the holidays. So full false innocence and good intent that her opinion _needed_ to be known, that everyone else _needed_ her help, because of course she knew better. Who died and made her queen? Jezibell found it very satisfying to watch her braced mouth hang shocked when told to be left alone. Good riddance with a capitol 'G'. A more irksome memory from the first time she saw them at the bookstore with their big friend the Gamekeeper. _Rotten to the core, the whole family… No Malfoy is worth listenin' to. _Jezibell tasted bile in her throat and picked up her reaching the greenhouses Jezibell saw the Herbology professor, her arms cast in multiple slings. She wondered what kind of plant they would be dealing with.

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" barked the woman. The class drew a collective breath of anticipation, and Jezibell felt rather out of it. Greenhouse three? What was wrong with that? She wished she had a tour guide. The new professor, Gilderoy Lockhart (Jezibell was familiar with his legacy and admired shamelessly it until a few months ago when she actually met him in _Flourish and Blotts. _One look at his smarmy expression dispelled all faith in his talents.) was there as well.

"Oh, hello there!" He cried jovially, "just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a whomping willow!"(_Whomping _willow?) "But don't runaway the idea I'm better at Herbology then she is! I just happened to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels."

All the while he was speaking the man had maintained a perfect grin, displaying his snow-white teeth proudly. Jezibell figured it was the type of showy smile that one practices hours for in the mirror, and upon this mental image she found a new name for him: Blockhead. The Professor took them to the designated greenhouse three and opened the door.

The inside was a sauna, but Jezibell quickly forgot the heat. Though no fan of sentient vegetables, she was forced to give Hogwarts some credit for this. Of what little memories she salvaged from Durmstrang she was sure they had nothing like the greenhouse there. Giant vines wrapped around posts and up to the ceiling where they sprouted into beautiful bell flowers the size of small cars; leaves and stems covered the walls though in the fertilizer haze the individual plants were indistinguishable; a circular formation of work tables were in a patch of cleared of dirt and a suspicious looking plant waved tentacle-like feelers towards them eerily. Jezibell gave the last one good five feet wiggle room.

Just as he was about to come in, Harry Potter got snagged by Blockhead and with Sprout's permission was taken back outside. Jezibell watched their silhouettes through the greenhouse tarp, Blockhead clearly still grinning ridiculously, and she went to find a seat. All the tables were full of course, except one open chair next to a Hufflepuff. Jezibell steeled herself to sit down, hoping he would bear the partnership with her in good grace. He did not. Hufflepuff got up in a huff and marched pointedly to the Weasley-Granger table. This was going to be a long year. The professor walked to the trestle bench in the center of the tables, but gave no signs that she was going to introduce Jezibell to the class, which perfectly suited Jezibell's needs. Potter was released from Blockhead's clutches to join Hufflepuff at the Weasley-Granger table and class began.

"We will be repotting mandrakes today."

Jezibell breathed an internal sigh of relief. This was too easy. She did an essay on the mandrake properties last year and this (mercifully) involved no whomping willows.

"Now who can tell me the properties of the mandrake?"

Jezibell put her hand up calmly, preparing to restate the introduction. Maybe if the professor assigned writing for homework she could persuade her mother to send a copy of the old essay, then remembered the Gryffindor issue and thought better of it. There was only one other person with a hand in the air, Granger, but hers was far from calm. Waving like a stalk of grass in high wind, the girl actually stood up to call all attention to her. Jezibell guessed this must be part of Hogwarts etiquette so she stood up too, arm straight.

"Yes Malfoy?"

"Mandrake, or the Mandragora, is commonly used as a restorative. It returns people or objects altered from their normal state; cursed, transfigured, paralyzed etcetera... to their usual form," she delivered robotically.

The class looked as though she recited the alphabet in Chinese. Not wanting to remain standing up in the focus of everyone's attention, Jezibell sat back down. It changed nothing.

"That's very good, Malfoy, you're all caught up then. Yes, um, ten points to Gryffindor."

The professor looked a little unnerved by her tone. Jezibell hoped she would get used to it. Whatever her subject, Sprout didn't seem a difficult personality - a generous perception that could not be said for everyone in the room. Granger gave Jezibell a look of pure loathing that she returned with interest. The professor began again.

"The mandrake forms an essential part in most antidotes. It is also, however dangerous. Can anybody tell me why?"

Granger didn't even give Jezibell a chance to raise her hand. She shouted out the answer at top speed as soon as her own hand shot up

"The cry the mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it!"

"Precisely, take another ten points." said Sprout. Granger sat down rather smugly, as if she just won an important race. The professor then gave them a selection of earmuffs for protection and the students started scrambling for them as they do. When Jezibell swiped the last non-fluffy or pink earmuff, her neighbor, another Hufflepuff, gave her an unpleasant look. _Whatever_. Jezibell rolled her eyes at him and he turned away. Sprout instructed the class on how to repot mandrakes and warned them against the feeler plant Jezibell noticed before (venomous tentacula).

Just before closing her earmuffs, Jezibell overheard Huffy the Hufflepuff talking to Potter, Weasley and Granger.

"That new girl is really strange looking isn't she?" He said, "She's always giving you a dirty look with those evil eyes of hers. I was going to be her partner, but who wants to glared at all day?"

Evil eyes? Jezibell knew she inherited the heavy Black eyelids and a tendency to stare longer than what is common courtesy at people, but no one ever told her it was malicious. Of course, in her parents' book that was probably a good thing.

"She's a Malfoy, Justin," said Weasley, parroting his father no doubt, "what do you expect?"

"I dunno, I'm from a muggle family. How am I supposed to know that some wizards are worse than others?"

Jezibell snapped her earmuffs on loudly in disgust. The four turned to look at her at the sound the noise, catching her eavesdropping. Weasley said something Jezibell didn't hear and the others laughed. She shook her hair into her face to hide the hated eyes, checked dutifully that the nearest pupils had their earmuffs on, and pulled hard on the mandrake stem.


	2. The Haunts of Hogwarts

The Haunts of Hogwarts

_Girls' Dormitory, September Fifth_

The rest of the first week went by just as unsmoothly as day one. The other teachers were eager to ignore Jezibell as Professor Sprout, except Blockhead who was simply oblivious. Jezibell's initial opinion of the moronic excuse for a professor was, in light of the Cornish Pixies he unleashed on the class his first day, still strong. Every answer she gave, every small Charms victory was greeted with a wary look, leading Jezibell to wonder if Dumbledore explained the circumstances of her expulsion to the staff. Or if he even knew. Taking the hint, Jezibell stopped going out of her way to show the teachers her completed work and hardly spoke unless called on.

Few other students approached her directly since the rebuffing of the resident know-it-all-and-you-should-to, which Jezibell supposed could be taken several ways. On the positive, this meant she wouldn't have to bother with introductory speeches and be force fed their lightly sweetened lies of welcome. Her housemates didn't want her disrupting the balance of their precious social system any more than Jezibell herself did. On the negative, this meant she was quickly becoming the least popular person in school. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Slytherins for years did battle for equal opportunity, value of education and who deserved the House Cup now finally found something they could all agree on: Jezibell Malfoy was a problem.

Granger in particular seemed to have come to the conclusion that Jezibell enrolled at Hogwarts purely on the whim of competing with her in class. This was very bothersome as it clashed with Jezibell's minimal attention plan. Not speaking did little to divert this unwanted competition. Whenever completed papers were given out, Granger would always sneak a peek over her shoulder to see if Jezibell's score was as good as hers. Often it must have been very close because it sent Granger into a rant to Harry Potter and Weasley, who supported her in the matter. Out of a petty spite aimed at the Hogwarts community at large, Jezibell fought back. She would sometimes give the teacher rather showy answers or add an obscure fact onto the subject Granger explained, simply for Granger's reaction that she and Emmy could laugh about later. The fact that the girls were forced to share a dormitory did not help. No confrontations yet, but it was only a matter of time.

But Hermione Granger was small potatoes compared to the horror, two actually, that lurked in the girls' side of Gryffindor tower. Jezibell spent most of her evenings with the curtains drawn around her four-poster, trying to block out the endless chatter of Patil and Brown, the girls she had spotted glaring at her while walking to Herbology. Of every other torment life at Hogwarts offered, sharing a dormitory with a pair of friendship-bracelet-besties was the cruelest. Not that Jezibell would be able to stand companionship at that level with people like them. From what she observed they were concerned with little outside the Wonderful World of Cosmetics and took a meticulous distain to her, starting with the plain blue hair band that was Jezibell's sole accessory. Everywhere they twittered her story of expulsion, the madness that lurked in those hooded eyes, and the demon cat that clawed the eyes out of the Durmstrang Headmaster. Or was it the History teacher? Either way, the tales quickly overtook the Harry Potter's Grand Theft Ford Anglia in fueling the gossip train.

Jezibell didn't care, about any of it. Really. Emmy was all the company required so she discouraged friends on principle. She didn't ask for these people as roommates, never said expulsion would be a dream-come-true and – The Dark Lord forbid – hadn't given the Sorting Hat permission to stick her where everything about Jezibell Malfoy screamed she did not belong. At least, she didn't think she did.

Personality Wars aside, the second most aggravating part of Operation Survive Hogwarts: Week 1 was that the wishful thinking tour guide had not yet shown up. Navigating the ever changing seven stories of patched together castle was near impossible if you are also desperate to reach class on time.

_"They really should hand out maps to the new students." _Jezibell remarked to Emmy after knocking halfheartedly at one particularly smart aleck door-wall. She supposed it wouldn't be so bad if she arrived the same year as her classmates, when everybody else was just getting the hang of things as well. Then again, the teachers did their best not to notice her in class, so when Jezibell slipped in ten minutes late the only one who cared to comment on her absence was Brown hurriedly whispering to the Irish kid about what the Mystery Malfoy had been up to now. The weekend would be an enormous relief. Jezibell was planning to enjoy the last of the warm weather with her new Nimbus 2001, assuming she could find the Quidditch stadium.

About three hours before these plans could take form Emmy landed on Jezibell in her bed and shook her awake.

_"It's no go for the broomstick today,"_ hissed the cat._ "I just saw Harry Potter leave with the Quidditch team, they're practicing now."_

Jezibell groaned. Why on earth were they up at this time practicing? There had to be months until the first match. She decided that she would be at the pitch, whether the team liked it or not and after they were through it would be her turn. Emmy nabbed a piece of toast while Jezibell put on light gear and she ate the bread on the way to the pitch. It wasn't terribly filling but she could finish breakfast after the flight.

A match of a different sort was in full throw when she arrived. As Jezibell approached she could see the two teams of red and green standing opposite of each other, her father's brooms glinting in the sun on the verdant of the two. She moved closer and could hear their voices; it sounded as though the Slytherins had received special permission for practice that over road the Gryffindor booking. What else is new? Perhaps they would both leave in compromise. She ducked behind the first row of benches to hear more clearly.

"Oh, look - field invasion." said the Slytherin captain. For a second Jezibell thought he'd seen her, but then came the real invaders. Potter's friends, Weasley and Granger were coming down from the stands probably thinking they would be able to single handedly chase the Slytherin team off the pitch. Along with them came the camera-happy first year, Creevey, a few seconds from collapsing in excitement.

"What's happening?" asked Weasley, "Why aren't you playing and what's _he _doing here?" he added confusedly pointing at Draco. Weasley must be pretty slow. The bright green Quidditch robes and wide smirk on her brother's face were clues enough as to why exactly he was present. Not to mention the big, bold silver letters stating _SEEKER_ across his chest.

Draco took it upon himself to clear up the confusion

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley. Everyone's just been admiring the new brooms my father bought our team." He paused just to make sure everyone had gotten it. Weasley looked even more gormless as he stared at the previously unnoticed shiny black Nimbus 2001s, "Good, aren't they? Perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise money to buy some new brooms too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum will bid for them."

The Slytherins laughed stupidly over his lame joke. Actually, had reality taken a different turn, Draco wouldn't be the only new addition to the team. If Jezibell made Slytherin as planned, Father arranged via a generous bribe of broomsticks for her to be let on the team as Keeper. Jezibell could see a relieved Miles Bletchley in the back of the lineup, gripping his broom nervously and staying in the shadows of the argument so not to be given the boot.

Granger spoke up, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."

Burn. Draco looked like he was debating something in his head. Jezibell knew what was coming. He'd been rehearsing this little bugger since the trip to Diagon Alley.

"No one asked your opinion," Draco said, then added with relish, "You _filthy little mudblood_."

The Gryffindors, predictably, went bananas. It was a wonderful performance of pointless aggression, the foot stamping and hair pulling were nice touches, though it did get a bit over the top when one of the chaser girls screamed 'How dare you". Creevey clicked madly away at his camera while Weasley pulled his wand and attempted to aim at Draco through his bodyguard.

BANG!

Weasley doubled over, hit by what appeared to be his own slug-vomiting curse. Jezibell could hardly hear the anxious squeals of Granger over the Slytherin laughter. Not needing to see the rest of Weasley's invertibre convulsions Jezibell stepped out from behind the first row of seats, intending to go back to the castle. Big mistake.

"You! What are _you_ doing here?" Harry Potter was glaring at her fiercely – no, at not her, but the Nimbus 2001 in her hand. On look at its ebony handle identical to the Slytherin team's was enough to convince him whose side she was on. Jezibell looked back, wondering whether to turn and flee to the castle. "Get out of here! No one wants you. Leave!"

Weasley puked more slugs on the ground.

Jezibell did not run. She stared him down coolly, even as the camera flash white spots popped in her eyes. She turned slowly, marveling at her own self-control, and walked calmly to the castle wishing Emmy would quit snarling at her side.

That night was wrong. There was no reason for it, it just was. Nothing had changed in the dormitory or in the behavior of her roommates and she really couldn't care less about what happened on field.

"_Really_?" asked Emmy, teasing with skepticism as was her way.

"_Yes, really_." Jezibell spat a confirmation, unnerved by her shortness with the familiar as she did so. Emmy never upset her. After apologizing to her only companion, she decided her skiving off dinner again was the cause of her troubles, so ignored all misgivings and went to bed. Goosebumps prickled up her arms as she tried to fall asleep. Somehow, dreams came. Nightmares more like it. Whispering voices hissed her name, unclear murmurs like an out of tune radio. She caught snippets of phrases, _this one must be temporary….bad hunting tonight…..so hungry, so long….. _Something came clear through the smoky dream-haze, a door in a corridor that opened to a bathroom with a pitch black hole where one of the sinks should be….

Jezibell woke in a cold sweat. She struggled with breathing for a moment as the bathroom image swam in her eyes. Since her discovery of the Dark Chamber, Jezibell gave the lavatory and its ghost a wide berth. The monster in her dreams was the same as in the pit, she was sure of it. But how could it have gotten out and why was it haunting her?

She was reading too much into this. The chamber had sealed, Jezibell had heard it shut itself as she left the bathroom. The way to open it was parseltongue and no human in the school besides herself could possibly have the knowledge. She shook herself mentally. The monster was nothing more than a product of an overactive subconscious on an empty stomach. That was all. She was awake to see the sunrise, blood red.

The monstrous dreams and Jezibell's doubtful sixth sense continued to badger her through October. Classes proved to be much the same as Durmstrang once she figured out where all of them were, the difference being of the cast and the lack of bilinguistics. Durmstrang students were required to be fluent in German and Norwegian, the primary languages at the Scandinavian school that took students from most of North-eastern Europe, but when the Obliviators took her visual memories somehow much of Jezibell's knowledge of both was lost in the process. Though there was relative peace in ongoing struggle of Hogwarts vs. Jezibell, Potter and friends gave her frequent looks to show they hadn't forgotten the slug incident. In retaliation, Jezibell simply looked back. It freaked them out.

Potions was steadily becoming Jezibell's best subject for several reasons. Foremost, it was the only class Granger wasn't a pet in and the teacher, Professor Severus Snape, had the courtesy to treat her like any other student. He hated Gryffindors on principle, but favored Malfoys on the same, so Jezibell supposed it evened out with her. But above all, the most appealing part was it's being of the few classes that didn't require the use of Great Aunt Elladora's wand.

After having her first instrument snapped upon expulsion (14 ¾ inches, sycamore and phoenix feather) her parents made the decision to give her a hand-me-down instead of brand new. Whether this move was to remind Jezibell of the legacy she hailed from or to hinder her magic abilities was unclear. All she knew was that it felt wrong in her hand; too heavy, too soft, too porous, not the right curve about the handle – etc. Not one day transforming teacups to toads in Transfiguration went by where Jezibell didn't fervently miss the old sycamore. What she hated more than the new wand was the witch behind it. The late Elladora was a contributing member to her mother's side of the family, starting the tradition of beheading House Elves and mounting them on a wall. Now who wouldn't want to use the wand of such an aspiring person? Her mother told her she would adapt to the new wand, and Jezibell supposed she was. Her marks in the classes were more or less fair, but that made her loathe Elladora's all the more. The wand chooses the wizard, and if this wooden beast was shifting it's alliance, what did that say about Jezibell?

An escape from the schedule, Jezibell visited the Quidditch pitch often as she was able, but usually found it occupied by one of the four house teams. Watching Quidditch was almost as good a way to take your mind off of things as playing it, so she stayed most days to watch the team practice. They were usually too focused to mind her presence, quickly figuring out she wasn't a scout from another house as they all hated her. She started to construct a personal almanac, based on her observations, about the Quidditch match outcomes.

Slytherin was doing well, mostly due to the new brooms. The team was comprised of hulking boys, save Draco, who all looked vaguely related on the troll side of the family. Their strategy seemed fairly straightforward. To dazzle the enemy with incredible brooms and cross the tactics bridge when they got to it. Jezibell decided they were getting too overconfident and would, to everyone's great surprise, be defeated in the next match. It was thoughts like this that made her wish people _would_ talk to her, if only to rob them of their gold in betting.

Hufflepuff worked hard, but they simply didn't have talent in the air that the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws did. Their beaters weren't nearly up to snuff and the chasers dropped every other pass. The Captain and fumble-fingered seeker was on his last year, and Jezibell guessed no one on the team would be too upset to see the back of him and his passive-evasive tactics. They would lose spectacularly to Gryffindor.

Gryffindor practiced with a fever. The captain was one of those mad genius types and they flew - rain, sleet or shine. The incident that first weekend could have been completely avoided if Jezibell had known anything about him beforehand. Staking a claim to the pitch at four a.m. was practically mandatory for these players. As much as Jezibell would love to say otherwise, Harry Potter _was_ a pretty good seeker. Once he caught the snitch within ten seconds after it was given a head start on the field. With him on their side, Gryffindor would beat Slytherin and Hufflepuff, guarantee. Ravenclaw was a close call, but they might just pull through.

Ravenclaw was an exemplary school Quidditch team. They possessed wonderful natural talent and were nicely coordinated. The seeker, Chang, was particularly fast and the chasers weren't half bad, if a bit off task and chatty. Once they did start playing seriously, however, Gryffindor would have to pull out all the stops to beat them and their Hawks Head Attacking Formation.

After one muddy practice session with Gryffindor, Jezibell reentered the castle rather disgruntled. She managed in her inattentiveness to step in the single foot deep puddle of mud on the way back from the stadium. Her boots were completely soaked through and she planned to squish her way to the library to look up the air-drying charm immediately.

On the way to the library she passed Harry Potter, who was talking to one of the ghosts.

"And did you know, Harry?" asked the ghost, whom Jezibell now recognized as the sensitive patron for Gryffindor tower. He was rather well-to-do but cordial enough so long as discussion strayed from heads, necks or the severing of them. Personally, her main issue with him is that the very idea of a Gryffindor Ghost is oxymoronic. If ghosts are the dead who are afraid of the afterlife and so remain behind, how could any brave, daring Gryffindor proudly call himself one? "This Halloween is going to be my 500th Deathday."

No kidding. Jezibell had heard such traditions existed between ghosts but never had one confirm it.

"I was wondering if you and a few of your friends would like to come to the celebration." Gryffindor Ghost continued, "It would be a great honor to have living people at my Deathday party."

"Er...wow, Nick!" hesitated Potter unsure what to do with the invitation, "Sounds like...fun. I'll think about, ok?"

Jezibell stopped for a moment, considering whether or not to go to the Deathday party herself. She certainly wasn't looking forward to being gossiped and glared at the Halloween feast. It might be nice to escape from the land of the living for a while.

A sudden noise interrupted her thoughts when the caretaker, Filch, sprang out from behind a tapestry.

"FILTH!" he yelled the tartan scarp around his head for his seasonal flu wobbled as he gestured dramatically at her and Potter's mucky footwear. "Mess and mud everywhere!" he exclaimed, "I've had enough of it I'll tell you! You're both coming with me, befoulers!"

Jezibell rolled her eyes and followed the wheezy caretaker with Harry Potter while Nick floated from the scene of the crime. Thanks to her keep head down policy, she never met the caretaker of the school grounds face to face before. This would be an education in Hogwarts staffing. Filch took them straight his dingy office in the dungeons, where Jezibell's critical eye quickly estimated the caretaker's salary in order to support the room's musty condition. The number wasn't high. Filch took a bedraggled quill from his desk and began writing out the punishment, muttering to himself as he did so.

"Names, names….yes, Harry Potter and …um," he glanced up at Jezibell awkwardly, "Malfoy girl. Crime…"

"It was just a bit of mud!" complained Potter.

"Just a bit of mud to you, boy, but it's an extra hour of scrubbing to me!" shouted Filch. Harry Potter glared at Jezibell as if it were her fault Filch didn't buy his excuse.

"Befouling the castle!" cried Filch, having come up with words to express the magnitude of their crime. He wiped his runny nose, "Suggested sentence…"

Before Filch could state his idea of a punishment there was a loud BANG from overhead.

"Peeves!" yelled Filch angrily at the ceiling. "I have you this time, I will have you!"

Jezibell encountered the poltergeist of Hogwarts only once before, on which occasion he made an attempt to kidnap Emmy. He had not bothered them since. Filch was obviously not as successful in warding off Peeves for he raced out of the room with the air of man about to settle a score.

Potter sat down in the moth-eaten chair at Filch's desk and Jezibell supposed she could have taken the opportunity to escape, but realized Filch would be bent on tracking them down after having written out half a report. She crossed her arms and let her eyes wander about the office, not wishing to engage in a staring contest with Potter. They tripped over a large purple envelope on the desk that looked like a much more recent acquirement then the dusty files beneath. Jezibell picked it up and read the curly cursive splashed on the cover. _Kwikspell._ She smirked as she set it back down. No wonder Filch's pay was so low. He must be squib if he was desperate enough to be investing in a _Kwikspell _course. The company was a scam, more of a self-esteem psychotherapy class than a way to become more powerful and wouldn't be able tap into a magical well, such as Filch's, that was clearly bone dry. Potter snatched up the letter as soon as she put it down. Jezibell made a note to be more careful with her expressions in the future.

The caretaker was hurrying back to his office. Jezibell could hear the muffled footsteps outside the door. Potter stuffed the opened letter back in the envelope and tried to make it look as if it was lying on the desk all along. Idiot. The envelope lay on the edge of the desk, two feet from where it began and the flap was hanging wide open like a little flag. So much for stealth.

Filch evidently managed to find Peeves for he was muttering to his lint-gray cat excitedly about all the ways he was going to exploit, punish and disembowel the poltergeist after enslaving him to be his butler. Jezibell considered if the old man was insane, and then if she was being hypocritical. He saw the envelope. His face, previously flushed with excitement, became trickled with old not-even-good-for-cheese milk white. Filch's eyes fell on Potter and Jezibell. He seemed too terrified for words. Maybe there _was_ a way out of detention.

"We were just looking at this letter, Mr. Filch," she said, Potter turned his head to stare wildly at her like she had given their death sentence, "Kwikspell is an interesting choice."

"No, it's not mine," he stammered and Jezibell raised an eyebrow at his protesting too much. She never asked. "I mean yes…er, it's very interesting.

"Definitely, sir. Other people would be _interested_ too," Jezibell laid her hand on the unfinished report, counting on the caretaker of the underbelly of Hogwarts knowing such dealings as well as her father did.

"Yes, in-interested," He parroted her in his panic, "To be sure… er, you may be dismissed. Yes, you may go now."

"Erm, did you mean me to go too, sir?" Potter asked, seeming very confused by the whole exchange, which confused Jezibell. He had read the letter, same as she did.

"Stay put, Potter, I haven't finished," commanded Filch thickly through his cold. He returned to Jezibell, "You go. Just _go_!"

"Certainly, sir," She bobbed her head in parody of politeness and swiped up the report. She considered lighting it on fire, but that would be just plain nasty and she hadn't mastered the incineration charm yet. "But sir, you wouldn't mind if I kept this, would you, _sir_?"

A dribble of sweat weaved downstream through a rivulet on his aged temple at every 'sir'. He glanced rapidly from her to Potter and back again. "No, not at all, _Miss._

Jezibell crocodile smiled at the honorific reversal, "Malfoy, sir. Jezibell Malfoy."

She walked out the door triumphant, crumpled report in hand and an equally cowed man behind. Oh, that was fun. Potter, finally, caught on and followed.

"And stay out!" Filch shouted after them in a pitiful try for authority.

They walked down the hall together, if only by accident. The other way led deeper into the dungeons, so it would be fairly useless unless you were looking for an audience with Snape. Jezibell started absentmindedly shredding the parchment and the rough noise filled the void some. Potter abruptly stepped in front and faced her. His skinny shoulders tensed back from his chest in an unconscious attempt to seem taller. It didn't work. His glasses were opaque in the limited dungeon lighting, but it wasn't hard to guess he was glowering. They stood like that for a moment, peering through one-way glass and bangs. Potter appeared to be teetering on the verge of speech, but for whatever reason unwilling to go first. Jezibell wasn't about to help him out and eventually he turned away into a half-run down the rest of the corridor, going up at the first staircase. Jezibell figured she must have overdone the creep factor. Good, that was part of the point. Squelching to the library for the second time, she decided to go to the Deathday party. If any ghost asked her she could say she was a friend of Harry Potter's. He owed her that.

* * *

_The Dungeons, October Thirty-first_

The Deathday party was not difficult to find. All Jezibell had to do was follow the dozens of pale, transparent figures floating down to the dungeons. Remembering how ghosts cooled whatever space they were in, she brought her winter cloak along with a plate of sandwiches Emmy stole for her(Emmy herself would not be attending the party; she didn't like ghosts and how they had no smell/taste). Jezibell was confident the ghosts wouldn't be serving edibles.

The passage way to the particularly old and clammy dungeon for the party was lined with eerie black candles with bouncing blue flames that sent Jezibell's lone shadow dancing lithe and spidery across the worn stone. She kept the effect in mind if she ever wanted to host her own. The orchestra wasn't nearly as pleasant. It screeched and wailed reminding her of the sound people made after stepping on Emmy's tail. At the doorway stood the Deathday Duke in velvet plumed hat that would been very fashionable in the late 1400s.

"I suppose you are a friend of Harry Potter's," Nick made the jump for her, "I do find it a pleasant surprise that anyone would be as kind as to forgo the Halloween feast on my behalf."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. It's sure to be smashing; you've got the atmosphere spot on," She added, gesturing at the decor.

Nick looked at her for second like he was trying to fathom if she was being ironic or not (as if there was a way to avoid it at a _Death_day party). It could just be he remembered her as the girl who called him out on being a Gryffindor Ghost, though. Regardless, he bowed her in in a flurry of plume. If the Greenhouses had been a sauna then this was the arctic. The extra layers weren't nearly heavy enough to block out the frigid air. Jezibell wandered around and through the pale figures, avoiding what small talk with the ghosts she could. She only ate few of her sandwiches because there was a funny smell hovering around the room that made her a bit queasy. While trying to escape a nutty spirit who thought he knew her from a past life she walked, literally, into Myrtle.

"Watch where you're going, will you?" The spectacled specter whined, smoothing out her transparent dress, "What are _you_ doing here anyway? This is a _ghost _party!"

"Terribly sorry," countered Jezibell remorselessly, "But I was so sure this was _Nick's_ Deathday, not yours."

"OOOOOOOOoooh, nobody ever remembers I _have_ a Deathday! It's just like when I was alive when everybody tried to forget that I existed and still nobody likes me! I thought when you died everybody was supposed to love you and mourn you and I really wanted to be around to see that, but even now people hate me and tease me and ohohoh_oooo_!"

Myrtle was painfully annoying. Jezibell could only imagine what she'd been like alive. Jezibell ignored her and went to take a look at what the Nick was serving having given up on her sandwich. It seemed she found the source of the smell. A haggis quivering with the amount of maggots it held on a long table of other such delicacies. She moved away to a more secluded corner, guessing the catering for the Deathday party was courtesy of Hogwarts feast leftovers. Over left leftovers. She had wondered what happened to the uneaten food when it disappeared. Across the hall she spotted three other human beings - Harry Potter, Weasley and Granger. So Potter decided to come after all. Confusing was a word becoming increasingly apt at describing him. Why would Harry Potter come to this musty stinky dungeon when he could go to the feast?

Two slow laps around the dungeon later, there was some action. Nick made a few fruitless attempts to start a speech, but the Headless Hunt, a rowdy group of ghosts who died due to decapitation, arrived and all spectral attention went to the game of head-hockey. Jezibell was backed up against the nearest wall as two huntsmen ran past her waving hockey sticks, when she the voice of her nightmares.

_"….rip…..tear…kill."_

She froze, pinned against the icy stone with fear. It was moving. She heard it traveling upward in the wall behind her, a foreign tremor brushed up her spine. Jezibell moved away from the wall, half expecting to see a hand reaching out for her. Maybe not a hand. The Thing wasn't human enough for a hand. She turned, ran to the door, received an additional chill as she passed through a haunt of middle aged ladies and flew up the steps into the deserted stairwell, still listening to the voice that moved just ahead of her.

"…_..so hungry….for so long….. I smell it now, blood…. I smell blood!" _Its words were frenzied. It had found a victim.

"_No__, no, stop! No!" _Jezibell yelled wildly in parseltongue. She didn't even know what she was chasing or that parseltongue would do quash. It was her default in stressful situations. She knew all her swears in the serpent's tongue and it was an easy way to keep nasty slips hidden from elders. Now it served as an intimidation tool to whatever she was pursuing. Nothing bluffed power better. She turned corner and up the last stairs to the entrance hall.

"_Too close…must go back….obey the master..." _

She sprinted into the entrance hall, but too late. The Thing had fled. Jezibell looked around at the place where it might have disappeared from and saw that someone somehow someway got there before her. A lint-gray cat was strewn up on the nearest torch, hanging by its tail. There was red writing beneath it, the paint still wet and loose drips running down the uneven marble.

_**The Chamber Of Secrets Has Been Opened.**_

_**Enemies Of The Heir, Beware**__._

Jezibell stepped forward to the scarlet graffiti, feeling adrenalin fade upon approaching the tangible. This didn't make sense. The words couldn't have been written by the monster, it sounded far too primitive in her head, and no person should have been able to reach here in time. The Chamber of Secrets. She remembered the fable from Mother's bed-time stories. It was one of Draco's favorites (Personally, she always preferred Babbity Rabbity). Salazar Slytherin wrestled with the other founders of Hogwarts over muggleborn rights back when the school was just getting started. He said they weren't worthy to be taught magic and dueled with Godric Gryffindor over it. He lost and was subsequently expelled, but before he left he created a secret niche that contained a horror to purge the school of muggleborns, a nameless monster which only his true heir could access and control.

But no way. Could Myrtle's bathroom be the entrance? It was mad that she could really have stumbled on what warlocks searched fruitlessly for years for on her first day. Insane. She touched the drying paint with her finger tips, as if it could provide an answer. Strange, it was stickier then normal paint should be. She sniffed it, curious. Wait a second.

"It's right up ahead! This way!"

Jezibell stiffened. She was going to have company in about two seconds, judging by the footsteps closing in. With her red stained fingers she knew exactly what she was would look like. This could get ugly. Harry Potter (of _course_) and his friends rounded the corner. Potter nearly slipped on the wet floor, skidding to a halt a few feet before her and the wall. Three pairs of eyes traveled from the cat, to the red writing, to her: speechless. Jezibell didn't know whether to meet their collective mute accusations or not so compromised by looking through her bangs. That didn't seem to help any. Then the thundering began, as a distant storm. The Halloween feast had ended and the entire student body was rushing out of the giant doors as they opened the floodgates. Over two hundred students would see her with the monstrous evidence. She could run, easily, but what good would it do with these three already here?

"We need to get out of here!" Weasley realized this in time for it to be too late. From the back of the hallway came about hundred people, talking and laughing about the wonderful feast. Quite abruptly, the first row of students halted having seen the grisly tidings that awaited them. There was a bit of scrambling as impatient people pushed forward to see what the holdup was as news traveled backward through the throng. Jezibell didn't move from the invisible spotlight and neither did Potter, Weasley or Granger. Once everyone received the message, a heavy silence settled on the crowd.

Draco saw fit to break the electrified quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir Beware," he yelled, reading the sign, "You'll be next, mudbloods!"

They all continued to stare at Jezibell as if it were she who spoke, not her brother.

"What's going on here?" screeched an annoyed annoying voice, "Get to your dormitories, all of you!"

The crowd parted dazedly as the caretaker shuffled his way into the scene.

"You're all going to be in deten-" He broke off upon seeing the cat trussed up as a turkey. "My cat! She's dead! Somebody killed Mrs. Norris!" He only needed to look two feet below the hanged animal to see Jezibell. She might as well have inscribed **GUILTY **across her forehead with the paint. "_You_ did it! I know you killed her! _I'll kill you_! Oh I'll-"

"Argus!" a commanding tone called. The headmaster had arrived.

Expulsion, the snapping of her wand, Father: it was Durmstrang all over again. Jezibell wanted to throw up her sandwiches as Professor Dumbledore swept past her, Potter, Weasley and Granger and unhooked Mrs. Norris.

"Come with me, Argus." he spoke to a distraught Filch, "You as well, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger and Miss Malfoy." Jezibell managed to glance at other three through her deja vu. They were all going to be expelled. Her anti-friends, however much they hated each other, didn't deserve it. Not this bad. She would find a way out, for all their sakes, and then groaned internally upon coming to this conclusion. Part II of Durmstrang all over again.

Blockhead, not wanting to miss a chance to be in the center of attention, offered his office as a place for Dumbledore to sentence them. The crowd parted as their little group passed and Professors McGonagall and Snape followed. Filch was hunched over in front, his frame racked with sobs. Jezibell felt a different something than fear rise in her stomach. Guilt? No, never, but pity perhaps. Sympathy must be it. He shared the same bond with Mrs. Norris that Jezibell did with Emmy; that was abundantly clear now. She_ had _been a hypocrite.

Though the lights were dimmed in Blockhead's office when they reached it Jezibell could still see the various portrayals of himself moving around in the gilded frames - the lucky survivors of the pixie attack. The headmaster laid Mrs. Norris on one of the highly polished desks and he started to examine her. His long, crooked nose almost touched the frizzy fur in his scrutiny. While he did this delicate task, Blockhead wouldn't shut up. He flittered around the table babbling his opinion of how the cat was killed. Potter, Weasley and Granger looked about as terrified as Jezibell felt. She hoped with all her might that her waxen face wasn't just as transparent.

After ten minutes of muttering charms, anti-curses and reveal-a-spells under his breath, Dumbledore reached a conclusion.

"She's not dead Argus." He said his voice barely above the whisper he used for the incantations.

"I knew it." said Blockhead

"She has been petrified."

Petrified? Jezibell was completely lost now. How on earth had the cat been _petrified_? All the horrible monsters she could think of (she knew quite of few of them) killed and ate you, not fossilized you as a chew-toy.

"But how," Dumbledore went on, "I cannot say."

"Ask the little demon across from you!" screeched Filch, "She did it, just look at her hands. See what she wrote on the wall! And she found my – in my office – she knows how I'm – I'm a – a Squib." He concluded miserably.

"A second year could never have done this. It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced kind." Dumbledore said, attempting to pacify the old man.

"Rubbish, she read my _Kwikspell_ letter! Her and Potter!"

The last bit was news to Weasley and Granger. They turned to Harry in surprise. Weird. Jezibell thought he would tell them everything. Isn't that how best friends worked?

"If I may add something," the potions master spoke from the half-light. "Miss Malfoy and her…comrades were possibly in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Jezibell was startled by Snape's oddly helpful gesture. Maybe the strange favoring was a result of her brother's brown nosing. She made a mental note never to criticize Draco's daily suck ups again, "There is, however, a set of rather suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor to begin with? Why were they absent at the Halloween feast?"

It wasn't much to float on, but Jezibell grabbed the twisted life raft with vigor.

"We were at Nick's Deathday party." The trio whipped around, surprised at her plural. She ignored them, "There are a few hundred ghosts, if you want eyewitnesses."

"But why not join the feast afterwards? Why go to the corridor at all?"

Weasley and Granger looked to Potter at this interrogation, as if he had the answer for everything. Apparently he didn't, so Jezibell continued.

"The feast was ending and we were too exhausted for anything but bed."

"Without any supper? I didn't think ghosts would provide food for living guests."

"I brought a sandwich plate." Jezibell held up her lone turkey sandwich on the platter, containing a smirk as she did so. Finally some evidence that worked in her favor. Weasley's stomach gurgled inconveniently. Could they look a little more clueless to her tale? Even Granger, who should be smart enough, was totally without guile. Snape continued to give her a stare with the same amount of scrutiny Dumbledore used when poking the cat. Jezibell stared back, giving him a we're-lying-and-you-know-it-but-you-can't-prove-it-so-nyah look. That one _had_ taken some practicing in the mirror to perfect.

"Two points each from Gryffindor for stealing food," Snape said, the punishment clearly intended for Potter and his friends, but widened so as not to show favoritism.

"Hey, it was only her who had the sandwiches," protested Weasley and Granger elbowed him.

"I hardly think sandwiches are at the crest of your problems, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall displayed impressive grasp of priorities. Like the inexplicably petrified cat.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus. But Miss Malfoy, in the future if you wish for a meal, I would suggest the feast," The Headmaster peered over his spectacled at her, remembering her performance at the back to school one. Yes, maybe, they would leave this overly shined office with their wands still in one piece. Please? Snape's expression was still mutinous and Filch looked like he was going to explode with righteous fury. Both were too incensed to speak however, so Dumbledore turned to the four. "You may go to your dormitories."

He didn't need to tell them twice, they rushed out the door and into the dimly lit corridor. The trio turned off at the nearest dividing hallway even though it was completely the opposite direction from Gryffindor tower. They probably wanted to put some distance between her and them before they arrived at the common room. Wouldn't want to be seen with Hogwarts Public Enemy No. 1.

Emmy caught up with her halfway up the last set of stairs.

"_I hate ghosts, I been looking for you all evening though their extra-dimensional crap. Did you hear it? That thing you dreamt about, it was practically outside the dormitories. Something happened. _W_hat happened? Give me details!_" She hissed nuzzling herself against Jezibell's left leg. "_Your roommates have been quacking about something for ten minutes now. The emotional tension in this place is at a breaking point, I will spontaneous combust if I am not let in the loop."_

Jezibell scratched Emmy's chestnut head without real conviction. Emmy licked her fingered affectionately, then recoiled at the taste.

"_Sssphat! Is that_ blood _on your hands?"_

Huh, so that was what the sluggishly dark red paint was.

"_It's chicken blood!"_ exclaimed Emmy, _"What happened?"_

Jezibell muttered the password to overweight guardian of Gryffindor tower, barely registering Emmy's distress. Her head was pounding with exhaustion. She just wanted to go to bed and dream regular dreams with no whispering voices, dark corridors and mystery monsters that defied laws of magic. Sleep first, reason later.

She had 'normal' dreams alright. She dreamt she was standing on a Quidditch field that stretched for miles in all directions. To the left were rows of wizards robed in emerald green and to the right they were scarlet, extending to the horizon. Jezibell was positioned in the no man's land between. At some cue, the wizards solemnly raised their right hands in unison, holding up what looked like their own heads. In the dream-logic way, this made sense even though the wizards' heads were still firmly attached to their bodies. Or were they? Looking closer, the heads where actually floating upward to the sky and being received by a fleet of hockey sticks that started to play midair game of head hockey, green sticks vs. red ones. The sticks churned faster, whipping around in the air and smacking the detached heads about. None of this came as a surprise to Jezibell or the fact that Emmy was nowhere to be found or when the wizards still on ground heaved their heads back in their right hand and threw them at each other, at her. Upon impact they burst as rotten tomatoes. Sweet dreams.


	3. Chekhov's Bludger

Chekhov's Bludger

_Quidditch field, November Seventh_

Whack! Whack! Whack!

The black sphere hit the goal post with a satisfying CLANG, and then zoomed behind to collide with the only other flying object on the field. Jezibell soared high, slicing through crisp morning air, letting the bludger tail her before whipping the loaner bat around to make contact.

Whack! CLANG!

The pole wobbled a bit from the force, but there was no real progress in felling it. Jezibell tossed the club to her left hand as the ball returned for another try at her head.

It was predictable and sure. The methodic crack of the bat over and over and over, punctuated by the occasional CLANG of success was the most consoling thing Jezibell heard since….Well, since a while. After the last week, she wanted a retreat from her precarious life and anything that involved a certain chamber that could be in a certain bathroom with a certain monster that – contrary to a certain popular belief- was certainly not being controlled by her. In fact almost nothing was. As of now, the three things on the What Jezibell Has Power Over list were her broom, the bat and the bludger.

Whack! CLANG! Whack!

The broom, for obvious reasons, she could steer as she pleased. The highs, lows and slipping in and around the few birds that were up this early; she directed it all, which was nice for a change. The bludger was erratic in motion, but easy to anticipate. All it wanted was to knock her off her broom - nothing new, and Jezibell's aim wasn't half bad most of the time. It crossed her mind once or twice that when she got expelled and her father kicked her out of the house she could try on for some obscure Quidditch team in desperate need of an amateur Beater. Better start practicing.

Whack! CLANG! Whack! CLANG! Whack! CLANG!

"Mistress Jezzie?"

Swish.

The club swung heavily through empty space and the speeding ball smacked hard into the speaker's head. The ball switched targets as the curse demanded and went for Jezibell. She caught it and managed, with the standard immobilizing charm, to stuff it back in its box. Then she turned, with the odd mixture of surprise and resignation to face the familiar small brownish green (and now black and blue) person the bludger knocked to the ground.

Upon seeing one of his masters standing impatiently over him, Dobby the House Elf quickly struggled to his feet.

"Hello, Mistress Jezzie!" He piped cheerfully as one can while kneading a forehead that nearly got smashed in, "Dobby is most pleased to see Mistress is enjoying life at Hogwarts with Master's new brooms."

"Don't call me that, Dobby," said Jezibell bluntly. If she told him once she'd told him seven thousand times that 'Mistress Jezzie' wasn't her preferred title. He could be punished for it too. Technically disobeying any of the family's orders should result in his beating. But though Jezibell found the rebellious little elf bothersome, she liked her father taking his cane to him even less. "Why are you here?"

The elf shifted uncomfortably, "Dobby was just passing through…And wished to check on his Mistress."

"How?" She demanded shrewdly. The elf required the permission of Mother or Father to set foot outside the Manor, unless Draco summoned him which wasn't probable. Dobby was kind of elf that was good for bragging rights not firsthand meeting. Dobby looked down, ashamed.

"Dobby has permission, Mistress, but was given orders not to speak it. Mistress Jezzie never stops amazing Dobby in how much she observes –"

"Dobby, I command you to tell me who sent you and why," said Jezibell, cutting off one of Dobby's frequent humility rants. They were one of his favorite tactics in changing subject and worked disparaging well on the other family members, especially Draco. Jezibell was a bit wiser when it came to flattery as unusual noises put her on edge. "Was it Mother?"

Dobby stared at his bare feet, defeated. "Dobby was sent by Mistress's father to see if Mistress Jezzie was doing well in school and was feeling fine."

But the elf's words still did not ring true. Since when was Father concerned for her wellbeing? It was the sort of meddling Mother might do, though she too would be inordinate as Jezibell's parents were supposed to be giving her the silent treatment at the moment. Why would Father go to the trouble of sending Dobby under a vow of silence to speak to Jezibell? Even if he cared enough, an imposing letter in the finest parchment gold could buy would be more in character. There was definitely an ulterior motive to this, but she didn't press Dobby anymore. If _Father _found out he broke his oath it would be a tanning for the poor elf.

"You can tell Father _Jezibell_ is just peachy. My marks are fair and I missed the bout of flu(part of that was a lie, her grades started slipping a week ago when Jezibell began spending less time studying Charms and more at the Quidditch pitch) Anything else you need to console your Master? I'm sure he's worried sick."

The sarcasm was wasted on the House Elf. Dobby picked at the crusted parts of his pillowcase thoughtfully to see if there was something he forgot. At last he came up with something.

"Please forgive Dobby for his curiosity, Mistress Jezzie, but why is Mistress up so early on the Quidditch Field playing with the angry ball?"

"Jezibell. And it's because five a.m. this morning is the only time I've got the field to myself," Jezibell wiped sweat from the exercise off her forehead, "There's a Quidditch Match today and the teams needed to practice. They were up earlier then I am now the whole last month and playing until the sun went down. But since today's the game, I suppose the captains let them sleep in."

"Yes," agreed Dobby, "Young Master Draco does need his sleep to beat the opposing seeker, as I'm sure he will," he added quickly. Jezibell frowned at the House-Elf's determined loyalty. If it wasn't for the 'mistress this' and 'mistress that', he would be the only humanoid Jezibell could have an almost normal conversation with. Even that was a stretch.

"I wouldn't put much on Draco's odds," she said just to dig him. "Potter's the superior player and has the next to best model of broomstick."

Dobby went pale right down to his bruises, "Har-Harry P-Potter is _here_?"

"Of course he's here," said Jezibell nonplussed, "How often have you heard Draco gripe? Harry Potter's the best thing that happened to Hogwarts since they canceled the Christmas plays, far as everyone else's concerned."

And _she_ was the worst as far as Harry Potter was concerned. Thanks to the friendly neighborhood Heir of Slytherin, worst fears of Jezibell Malfoy were confirmed to the students on Halloween night and Potter had no interest in divulging how she saved both he and his friends' bums from expulsion. Jezibell learned much from her encounters with him, namely that Harry Potter was nothing more than an attention seeking buck passing closed minded shrimpy little brat who was hero worshiped by world for a fluke in a mastermind's plan. But in spite of it all Potter possessed true talent on the Quidditch Field. Enough talent to drive Draco to whine, beg and blackmail his father for a stock of unbeatable brooms for himself and the Slytherin team. Said brooms that also made Jezibell very unpopular with the Gryffindor team captain and thus unlikely, whatever her skills, to get a position as Beater anytime soon. Curse you, Harry Potter.

"Harry Potter is playing in the game today?" queried Dobby innocently.

"That's what I said."

Jezibell waited a minute for the weird little elf to ask more. When he didn't, still thumbing dried boogies off his attire, she picked up the bludger case and hefted the club a shoulder.

"I need to return this now, Dobby. Go back to the manor."

"Of course, Mistress," was the somewhat subdued reply. Dobby kept his gaze on the grass and Jezibell saw the look of intense worry of disobedience on his exaggerated features. She made suggestion.

"If Father Commands you to say you told me that he sent you, you have permission use the marks from the bludger to say you punished yourself already."

On that chipper note, she started toward the broom shed with the borrowed materials when Dobby spoke up.

"But Mistress Jezzie, I must carry back the angry ball for you! It is my duty as a good House Elf to serve the Malfoy Family!"

Typical overly helpful Dobby. He was happiest when going above and beyond what his masters asked of him, which more often than not resulted in him getting the wrong end of Father's cane. Jezibell didn't protest in handing off the crate and received a nice feeling from the happy look on his face that meant he was doing something right. Jezibell did worry about both the mental and physical wellbeing of her elf, but even he should be able to handle this. What harm could come from him tottering six feet to put away a box?

Jezibell made it back to the common room in time to see the horde of Gryffindors trooping out to the stadium. They all bore scarves, gloves, and hats in the cult colors red and gold, with lion crested rosettes. Jezibell knew how to support the team too. She decked out in a plain black scarf and the characteristic hairband. The seven Gryffindor team members, three girls, and three (or four, if you count the Weasley twins as one entity or two) boys, draped in their robes of scarlet lounged like minor gods at the head of the table, discussing last minute tactics and shooting looks at the opposition.

The Match was at eleven and as there was nothing better for her to do, Jezibell headed down to the stadium 15 minutes early to scope out a good seat. She chose a nose bleeder, top row on the Gryffindor side, but close to the Ravenclaw section as possible in case the home team took out their spirit on the unforgivable Nimbus 2001 owner. Actually she needn't have bothered. When the student body poured into the stadium a bubble of unoccupied space formed neatly around Jezibell along with every jinxed chair directly in front of her leaving the best view of the pitch anyone could hope for. Being the Heir of Slytherin was not without its perks.

The game started as they do, with the entrance of the teams and the captains doing their best to shatter the bones in the other's hand. As hard as she tried not to, Jezibell couldn't help compare the Hogwarts game to the ones she witnessed (and participated in) at Durmstrang. The students abroad made a much soberer deal out of the sport than in Britain. Flying lessons were compulsory whether you were on a team or not and only the best were chosen by the flying instructor to compete. It was natural they would have greater skill. Nearest Jezibell could remember, the one player who might hold a candle to any one of her former classmates was Harry Potter.

Speaking of Potter, he was rocketing around the field like a loose firecracker instead hovering as a seeker is supposed to while waiting for the snitch. It was only a few minutes in (Slytherin already scored four quick points). Even _he_ wasn't good enough to have spotted it yet and it didn't look like he was chasing anything. The two beaters, Weasley and Weasley, circled him and as they passed Jezibell's corner she could see the trouble. Potter was being hounded by a bludger. The beaters pounded it, again and again, sure fire shots that should have blasted the ball to the other end of the stadium. But it kept curving around and coming back for Potter same as it did for Jezibell during practice. Meanwhile, two more points were gained by Slytherin and it was starting to rain. Jezibell began to rethink her theory of a Gryffindor win when Captain Wood called for a time out.

The keeper argued fiercely with his men and the Slytherins jeered from the other side. Even on the ground, that bludger wasn't about to leave Potter alone. It honed in on him like he had some sort of tractor beam and the Weasley twins kept interrupting the discussion to take a swipe at it. Clearly someone deliberately messed with this bludger's charm between last night's practice and now. But who? And how?

The meeting disbanded as the referee approached and the team took to the skies again with a rousing cheer from Gryffindor. The rain was coming down more heavily now, making it difficult for the players to see and be seen. The new tactics were to let the seeker be killed by a maniac bludger and focus on scoring. This worked, sort of. Gryffindor pulled up by a few points, but if Potter was any less of a fancy flier, the rogue would've taken his head off by now. For the Slytherin part, they were already celebrating what was sure to be a cunning victory. No clear signs as to which one of them jinxed the bludger, but they weren't ungrateful for the help. Draco basked in it all, happy to watch Potter getting clobbered instead of searching for the snitch.

Jezibell missed it. She was adjusting her scarf to keep the damp side off her face and so didn't see what happened. The whistle blew hard, signifying the match was over and Jezibell looked up in time to watch Potter's personal meteorite finally hit home. He fell, not very high off the ground, head over broomstick into the mud. For a moment, Jezibell wasn't sure if it was he who caught the snitch, but when the Gryffindor side burst into a stadium shaking applause, she guessed who won. Now to find out what was up with the bludger. She slipped through the hazardously happy top row and made it to the crowded stairs, knowing that if she didn't get the story now she would never hear a version other than the Patil and Brown reworking.

Once on the ground, Jezibell waded across the field, which had disintegrated into a large mud hole, to the group surrounding Potter, hoping to listen in. When she neared them, she saw that wasn't going to work. They were all staring at her with expressions varying between terror and hatred. Whatever. It wasn't as if she hadn't gotten used to this.

"Tell me about the rogue bludger and I'll be on my way," She said, feeling it useless to pretend not to be the center of attention.

"What d'you mean?" demanded Weasley with a sneer, "You know what happened. You did it, you lying scum."

Jezibell frowned.

"We all know it," spat Granger, "We all know what you were doing this morning when you thought everyone else was asleep. You and your crazy cat put a charm on the bludger, and I bet you were controlling it remotely during the game too."

Apparently Jezibell's little crack o' dawn exercise didn't go unnoticed as thought. Hell.

"You've got no proof," countered Jezibell quietly sticking with logic. They could spout off all they wanted. It wouldn't change that they had nothing to show the teachers.

"Oh yes, we do!" Granger held up a small metal object just visible through the sheets of rain, "Collin's got us all the proof we need!"

She waved the camera for Jezibell to see and the first year boy at her side gave a triumphant nod.

But she hadn't. It wouldn't. Her bludger practice didn't prove anything. Nothing, nothing showed her doing anything wrong because she hadn't. So why was Granger so sure? Because filmstrip doesn't show everything. Like what was actually being said when Jezibell tapped the bludger before storing it away. It was stupid and completely unreasonable to use Creevey's camera as definitive evidence, but she knew it wouldn't matter. Everything looked as it should on the tape and Granger couldn't be smugger.

"You won't be getting away with _this _one!" She smiled with satisfaction. Jezibell smoldered, wishing her eyes could boor into that frizzy head and make Granger see everything she had. She felt her hands clench at her sides, nails cutting into palms and imagined storm clouds swirling around her head. In fact, the rain was getting much worse. A sudden strike of lightning ripped the sky in two, quickly accompanied by a rumble of thunder.

"Watch me." Jezibell snarled.

A second flash from the heavens illuminated Granger's face, and Jezibell could see the fear dilating her pupils and shocked shape of her open mouth. Then Jezibell smiled. A wide, wicked evil grin designed to scare the devil out of anyone who crossed it. A secret weapon honed at Durmstrang from a hereditary trait. The icing on one sorry soggy cake. Thunder drummed in her ears as Jezibell turned her back to the Gryffindors and marched sloppily from the stadium before Potter came to.

There was still half a drizzly Sunday left and Jezibell spent it in the empty common room (everyone else was in the infirmary with Harry Potter) replaying the game and the events afterword for Emmy. Making the most of her last hours as a student of Hogwarts, before the Gryffindors stopped celebrating and started remembering why they were in the hospital wing to begin with. She knew she was dead. Once those pictures of Creevey's got developed, everyone would see her wand tip to the bludger and it would all be over. Whatever was said on the Quidditch field, she possessed no master plan to destroy the evidence, nothing worth watching. It was a small comfort that the potion for developing Wizarding film needed twenty-four hours to brew, but a day wasn't nearly enough time to find an excuse anyone would believe.

To keep her mind off the inevitable expulsion, Jezibell and Emmy focused on the two less imminent questions.

Firstly: the Bludger. If the team locked it up nice and tight until the next morning when Jezibell took it out for practice, then when would somebody have the opportunity to jinx it without either of them seeing? Of course they could have used the second Bludger for the deed, snuck in and out while Jezibell was practicing, but if Creevey was staking out the pitch too then he should have seen that. Unless Creevey did it, which is unlikely. Emmy wondered if the Heir of Slytherin and the Tamperer of Bludgers were connected as everyone was quick to cast Jezibell as the missing link between the two. Maybe there was another just as motivated person out there. But if so, why would the Heir of Slytherin go after such small potatoes as wrecking a Quidditch game? Jezibell refused to believe the answer revolved around Potter, though it might be plausible for some former Death Eater to have a vendetta against him. But none of the ones who were psychopathic enough to convince themselves of that plan were at liberty to do so. Nothing was even partially making sense, so they decided to let that one rest.

Next was the issue of the Paparazzi, aka Collin Creevey. The more Jezibell thought about the pint-sized camera crew the angrier she got. What had he been doing taking pictures of her at 5 a.m. when he was supposed to be working on his Boy Who Lived scrapbook? He couldn't have known in advance what use the photos would be, so why was he there to begin with? Spying on her? That seemed a few years up the road for a boy of eleven, and Jezibell wasn't the type of girl who attracted that sort of attention. Emmy wondered if he did it often and if so what other shots of her he'd gotten. Jezibell deemed it time for a break in the conversation.

She finished a bit of homework for Astronomy that was due Monday and decided to skip dinner as anxiety took her appetite. A few more chapters of Saturn's moons that weren't supposed to be read for another week, and Jezibell's head was whining for bed. No point in waiting up for her roommates. The charged air from the storm was making her was feel strangely feverish. Maybe she was catching the flu after all. The dark clouds in the sky looked much later than six o'clock in the girls' dormitory and she left the window open so she could listen to the rain pouring down. Emmy paced around and around on the bedside desk where she slept, occasionally pawing at it like it made a difference to the hard wood. Jezibell closed the curtains on her bed and blew out the candle at the early but oddly exhausted hour. She lay on her bed, counting the pauses between thunder and lightning and contorting Granger's words over in her mind. _You won't get away with it this time. _They all thought she was guilty, with no proof other the Creevey's camera she was going to be expelled. It was so outrageously unfair that Jezibell half wished she really _was_ the Heir of Slytherin. It would be a nice change to be blamed for something she actually did. She wondered who she'd like to petrify first if she was. Granger or Creevey.

At some point, these dream-wishes became nightmares._ The _Nightmares_._ She was traveling along a long dark corridor. _Blood…I will taste blood…_The rain penetrated her fevered sleep, pattering sounds telling her she was surrounded by house elves. They wanted to feed her to a bathroom seat stuffed with hungry cannon balls… _just this next corridor… Breathe the scent…master says here…where is it… _The search was brought off track. Something far more interesting was around a corner, just a small detour. _Breathe the scent, find the BLOOD!_

"_Jezibell! Wake up!"_

Emmy peered over on her chest, the snake-cat's eyes widened in concern. Jezibell twisted in her sheets to try sitting up and found they made a tourniquet around her torso. The hybrid leapt lightly off as Jezibell squirmed out of her wrappings. She was about to reach for her bag, when she noticed it was still dark in the room and she could hear the soft breathing of the other girls. A look at the silver watch on the bedpost told her it was one o'clock.

"_Why'd you wake me?" _she hissed, "_I was finally getting some sleep!"_

Emmy raised the spot above her right eye where an eyebrow would be if she had them,_ "Yes, you were having a very restful war with the blankets, but that's not what got me up. You heard it again, didn't you?_

Jezibell sighed and rubbed her eyes. Stupid hyperventilation, this wouldn't be the first time one of her midnight frights came to nothing, "_I'm fine, just stressed about tomorrow. Now please let me sleep._"

"_What you will,"_ Emmy yawned widely, probing her forked tongue in the air,_ "The rain is leaving. Guess that storm had passed on."_

"_Don't be sure on that,"_ Jezibell murmured to her pillow before diving below.

The next day, shortly after breakfast, Jezibell discovered several things about what happened while she was sleeping.

First, the Heir of Slytherin had struck again and this time petrified a person. Second, the victim of said attack was Collin Creevey. Third, the camera with the still undeveloped film of the bludger incident was fried. The lens and film completely destroyed by whatever got to Creevey while he was wandering the halls.

Jezibell had her wish answered after all. The storm had just begun.

The day after the second attack, Jezibell uncovered a dungbomb in her porridge. At the touch of her spoon, the plate imploded and splattered clumps of hot grainy mash and manure on her robes and face to the delight of the breakfast table. She was excused from first period to shower and change, but instead went up to Gryffindor tower and fell down on her altogether too soft bed and may have stayed there for several days if Emmy wasn't in such a rotten mood.

"_Come on, what did you expect? They think you busted up their Seeker and pulverized the evidence. If there was no poo in your hair by this time next week, I'd say the monkeys are slacking off."_

Jezibell hissed a curse to get the hybrid to leave her alone.

"_You can't lie here forever, not a brave and noble Gryffindor like yourself."_

No answer, none needed. Emmy changed tack, trying to get her worked up over the joker who planted the bomb. That at least got a response.

"_I don't care who did it! What does it change? They all hate me. This one's just more creative about it. And if I did find out, the Heir of Slytherin would probably go after that person then. I can't tell if this Heir is trying to help me or get me expelled. Could be both, I wouldn't mind."_

"_What makes you think this has anything to do with you?"_

"_Nothing! I could be completely wrong about the monster, I could be going insane. Who knows what the Obliviators did when they were rummaging around in my head. They're not exactly people I trust."_

"_I can assure you nothing's wrong with your head, with the possible exception of that nose you got there."_

Jezibell refused to answer to this.

"_You know I heard it too, alright," _Emmy hissed more gently,_ "And it's definitely worth being scared of. I just don't think the monster cares about you anymore than anyone else. If you stayed out its way, it would just ignore you. That's what I do, anyway."_

"_Wish that worked universally."_

A bird twittered outside as if in answer.

"_Why do you think that is?_" Emmy asked after it finished the song, _"Why do they hate and suspect you so? Even before this Chamber of Secrets business, you weren't likely to be voted most popular around here. First day here, wasn't there a kid who wouldn't sit next to you? Oh wait, that was all of them."_

Jezibell took a moment to think about this. From that perspective, it did seem a little odd that everyone, in every house, took such a unanimous dislike to her. She didn't really mind the hate; it's just that they wouldn't let her be because of it. At the time, it felt natural with the aftertaste of Durmstrang. But why_? _

"_I don't know," _she started slowly,_ "I always thought it was because of how I got here and where I come from." _

"_It's not the expulsion that makes them hate you, at least I'm sure that's not the whole of it," _said Emmy, _"It's that you can't be held down to one category. I can see the relationships here more clearly than you can, and at Durmstrang things were more spread out. No houses, no obligations to anything except yourself and the school. But here, all the sporty rebellious kids are Gryffindor, the helpful friendly types are Hufflepuff, the braincases are Ravenclaw and the creepy bullies are Slytherin. They think that should be good enough, to put you with your own kind and it's easy to see who fits where. But you took a fifth option." _Emmy's hissing stuttered a bit as she imitated chuckling, "_You, a Malfoy in Gryffindor. A Gryffindor who shows none of the obvious traits Gryffindors do and talks to her cat in parseltongue, though I doubt anyone's realized that's what we're speaking yet. You have plenty of money, but wear simple clothes and don't have any friends. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor are mad at you because you're the no man's land in a war."_

Jezibell sat up and looked at Emmy. Was that the key to her ostracism, that she went and invented her own side? "_If my options are Harry the hypocrite or pureblood pride, no man's land looks pretty good from here."_

"_Glad to hear it," _replied Emmy, "_And now you've got that straightened out, go shower. The oatmeal smells worse than the dungbombs."_

And Jezibell got up, changed clothes, showered to be back to class in time for lunch. People laughed and pinched their noses at her, but she took it and an apple and went about her day, content with what no man's land had to offer. It wasn't so bad, being on a team of her own with just herself and Emmy. She'd seen worse.

* * *

_Charms Corridor, December Sixteenth_

Whisper, whisper. Mutter, Mutter. Gasp! No, Really? Mutter, mutter. Heir of Slytherin...Do you think? Freaky monster. Talks to her _cat_...Oh, jeez! Did she look this way? Hey, Pureblood scum! Mind your own beeswax!

Jezibell weaved her way to Charms through the sticky web of gossip. Not that it was particularly hard. The tittering students scooted out of her way as if she carried some highly infectious disease. Jezibellitis. It was actually rather amusing to see a herd of tall Gryffindor seventh years part before her as the red sea, but after a month and a half it was starting get on her nerves. Even some of the teachers were now giving her warily speculative looks. You would think now that people thought they were next on her hit-list they would leave her alone. But no.

Mutter, mutter. Curse, curse. Freaky eyes, talking cat.

Jezibell gritted her teeth and stalked past the peanut gallery. If she ever did meet the _real _Heir of Slytherin - ah, it would not be pretty.

The dark dreams hadn't made appearance since the attack on Camera Man Creevy, but every so often, Jezibell would get shiver up her spine. A light shudder would seem to pass through the nearest wall. It didn't speak, not to her anyways, but it felt like a pair of eyes was permanently fixed on the nape of her neck. The monster/heir of Slytherin/thingy wasn't satisfied yet, Jezibell was sure. The phantom menace was still stalking Hogwarts and still haunting her.

Something weird was definitely up with Potter too. He, Granger and Weasley were almost never in common room between lessons anymore. A few weeks back, Jezibell overheard them being told off by Prefect Weasley for going into a girls bathroom. The conversation earned a passing snicker from her at the time, but now she wondered if the bathroom in question was Myrtle's. How many other lavatories in castle had dark magic hidden behind their walls that would be worth an investigation? Then there was the firecracker incident in Potions. If they were doing something, did have anything to do with the chamber of secrets mystery? Or just an elaborate practical joke?

Emmy nudged against Jezibell's leg to get her attention. There was a scrap of paper in the familiar's mouth.

"_All the other kids are looking at these posters. I swiped one for you."_

Jezibell read the slightly scrunched parchment. A Dueling club would be taking place at eight pm, tonight. Well, it was better than searching for invisible monsters in the walls.

Seven hours later, Jezibell walked to the Great Hall as the poster indicated alone. Emmy had no desire to risk her rattles being stomped on in a mob of big footed teenagers, thank you very much. The four long house tables had been cleared to make an open space in the center of the room where a giant bar of gold that would serve as the stage sat. She stuck to the back wall and skulked her way behind a pillar with dancing badgers on it. Every student, second year and above, was present along with two wizards stood on the stage, Blockhead and Snape. Jezibell guessed Snape would be doing the teaching and Blockhead would act as his guinea pig, so was surprised when Blockhead spoke first to the audience.

"Gather round, Gather round!" he called in a horribly hearty voice, "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me?"

Several girls in the front row, including Granger, sighed, "Yes."

"Excellent! Now Professor Dumbledore has given me permission to start a little dueling club!"

The old man must be cracking under the strain of the school board. Nobody with any sense would put that idiot in charge of something serious like this. A class in theater and drama, maybe.

"Let me introduce to you my assistant, Professor Snape!" Blockhead crowed in the words of a true magician, "He knows a tiny bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin."

The older boys who were hanging in the back now moved forward. Let's watch Goldilocks get gutted. The combatants arranged themselves into the accepted dueling position. Because you know, when Slytherin's monster challenges you to duel he expects you to have proper posture. Blockhead began the countdown dramatically.

"One...two...three!" he barely had time to raise his wand over his head when Snape shouted "Expelliarmus!" blasting Blockhead's wand high over the crowd and the Professor himself backward a good six feet, smacking him into the wall. That must hurt. Cheers erupted from the back row.

Blockhead did his best to pass his smashing defeat off as a teachable moment that fooled only the girls in the front. Snape's expression left Jezibell wondering whether there would still be two survivors in the next round. In a feat of intuition far beyond what Jezibell would have believed him to possess, Blockhead caught on to the dangerous mood and made the executive decision to divide the students up into practicing pairs. Jezibell gave an internal resigned sigh. For her it wasn't so much as Pick a Partner as find whatever sorry straggler who wasn't fast enough to grab one. Scanned the crowd half-heartedly, it looked like most everyone was in pairs. In her search, Jezibell passed Snape who was hassling Potter, Weasley and Granger.

"And Miss Granger, You can partner-"

* * *

_Hermione Granger_

Professor Snape reached out a pale, spidery hand into the crowd to make his selection. As long as it wasn't that Slytherin she-hulk, Hermione felt she could handle whatever he brought forth.

"Miss Malfoy."

Except, possibly, _that. _Fire alarms went off in Hermione's head as she watched the potions master steer Jezibell Malfoy into view by the shoulder. Her face was expressionless as usual but her slate eyes caught the candle light and burned in malevolence. Hermione looked to Ron and Harry in vain hope of an escape, but Professor Snape was already leading them to the other side of the hall for their own pairings. This wasn't a good development. If their suspicions were true about Miss Malfoy being the Heir, she might petrify Hermione too! Her stomach did little flips of fear at the thought, and Hermione worked to remember that Malfoy would never be stupid enough to try any dark magic in front of two teachers. This was a microscopic comfort when watching Jezibell Malfoy's left hand go to her pocket. But Hermione would be brave and give her rival all a muggleborn had to offer.

Malfoy cocked her head to the side, giving Hermione an appraisal. She drew her wand slowly, but didn't even attempt the Accepted Combative stance. Well, her partner may not put much in store by the rules, but Hermione was going to do this right. She stepped back exactly 20 paces, as Dueling for Beginners explicitly stated and held out her wand to mimic Professor Lockhart's position. All the memorized spells whizzed through Hermione's head as she checked to make sure she remembered them perfectly. She could do this. She possessed all the information to make it a cinch.

"Face your partners and bow!" called Professor Lockhart.

Hermione gave Malfoy a stiff bend, intent on following the Dueling standard even if no one else would. Malfoy leered.

"Wands at the ready."

Jezibell Malfoy's her wand-hand rested negligently at her side. Hermione felt a twitch of annoyance. She'd get hers in a moment.

"On the count of three you are to disarm your opponent, I say disarm only now!" called the Professor, "One!"

Expelliarmus, Expelliarmus, Expelliarmus_._

"Two!"

Malfoy still hadn't moved an inch, she appeared almost bored. Hermione's disarming charm would take her by surprise for sure.

"Three!"

Quick, like a cobra strike, Malfoy's wand whipped a shot of purple sparks at Hermione's face. She ducked just in time. The spell grazed the top of her head, producing a burning smell. Hermione cried, "Expelliarmus!"

The jet of red light missed Malfoy by almost three feet. But Hermione wasn't going to stop at that. She shot a hot jet of wind, Skurge (SKURJ), sparks to the left as a distraction(a tactic described in Dueling for Beginners) then a blasting spell, Everte Statum(ee-VER-tay STAH-tum). Tried to freeze her; Glacius(GLAY-see-us) set fire to her; Lacarnum Inflamarae( la-CAR-num in-fla-MA-rye) and blind her; Lumos Maxima(LOO-mos MAX-i-ma)all in perfect form from Jinxes for the Jinxed, but Malfoy managed to deflect or dodge each one in turn. Hermione longed for her strike back so she could use the shield charm against her, but returning blows never came. Her opponent continued to shift lightly around Hermione's precise attacks, making them rebound against the wall and forcing Hermione to join her in the quick movements.

The rest of the able class now gathered to watch the fight, Hermione and Malfoy being the only ones still going. Professor Lockhart asked them to stop and disarm only, but Hermione wasn't about to let this go. Here she finally had a chance to prove she was better than this stuck up creep. If Professor Lockhart was watching them he would see how brilliant a witch she was. Hermione smiled at the thought, pausing for split second in which Malfoy took the opportunity to shoot an unbalancing jinx at her.

Hermione tripped flat on her backside and Malfoy advanced. Hermione scrambled up, executing a brilliant backhanded air-blowing charm, (wand movements involving a twisting rotation of the wrist). The other girl was blown back to edge of their ring, but Hermione held the charm, funneling the wind. If she couldn't expel the wand conventionally then perhaps she could blow it out of Malfoy's grasp. Then Malfoy did something very odd, even for her. She shook out her hairband (a purposeless accessory as it did nothing to keep the bangs out of her eyes) and tapped it with her wand while muttering something under her breath. She then pocketed the wand and braced herself against the tempest Hermione was creating, holding the indigo hair ornament out like a boomerang. Hermione let the wind die and ran to get in closer for a Jelly-legs jinx in this moment of weakness. Malfoy's left hand shot out unexpectedly as Hermione dashed toward her. She snapped the hair-band out and neatly curved it around Hermione's jaw just as her mouth opened to give the incantation.

'MMM! mmm, mmmm! MNNNNNN!"

A sticking-charm! The little witch had laced the hair-band with a sticking-charm! It went against all dueling etiquette. You couldn't handicap your opponent mundanely! It wasn't fair! Hermione tugged at the fabric in mute horror. She could feel a piece of hair trapped in between the cloth and her mouth. Gross! Malfoy stood in front of her, a tiny smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. She drew the wand out of her pocket with painful slowness and raised it mocking the ideal combative formation. The surrounding student's eyes widened like they were watching a captivating tv program. Harry and Ron were close, but did nothing and the professors stood unconcerned in the background. Why wasn't anybody stopping this? Malfoy's wrist gave a casual little flick.

"Expelliarmus."

Hermione's wand was wrenched from her by invisible hands. It jumped spastically as there wasn't far for it to go and clattered to polished floor at Malfoy's feet.

"Bravo!" called Professor Lockhart, "Bravisimio! Now that's not exactly how I would have done it, but still. Wand disarmed. Here you are, Miss Greengrass, wasn't it?"

He smiled dashingly at her as he handed her back her wand. Hermione's face grew very warm as she took it, and consequently hideously sweaty against the hairband.

"Mmmmmr," She tried to correct him in vain. He left her burning to turn to the class at large. Hardly anybody was still looking at him and Hermione felt a surge of empathy. This dueling club was a wonderfully useful idea of his and now Jezibell had gone and ruined it.

To add insult to injury, Hermione couldn't speak the countercharm through the muffler and no one else in the class knew it. Well, Jezibell Malfoy probably did, but Hermione was struggling to maintain what little dignity she still had. So, she was forced to wait for Professor Snape (Professor Lockhart was busy, helping up some of the other children who had fallen) to finish making his rounds through the various magical maiming among the other students. He saved her un-sticking for dead last.

Harry and Ron took the courtesy not to say one word about Jezibell's triumph to her while they waited for Professor Snape to decide to notice them. They looked determinedly away from each other, like they were trying not to laugh. Hermione was beside herself. She wanted to rage and storm at Jezibell, Harry and Ron, Professor Snape, the sky. But she couldn't make any beyond a muffled whimper behind her gag. Forced to swallow the righteous insults, Hermione face grew redder and redder with suppressed fury and embarrassment. She still could not believe a Malfoy had pulled that one on her. It was humiliating to admit that she and her knowledge of half the Hogwarts library was defeated by a well-placed hairband.

Finally, Professor Snape saw fit to liberate her. He tapped the band with his twisted wand, in mocking leisure, and handed it back to Jezibell Malfoy, who slipped it back into the natural parting in her black hair. Hermione still didn't speak. She peeled the foul bit of loose hair off her lips and turned to Harry and Ron.

"I got it." she said, holding out the dark strand for them to see the ingredient for the Polyjuice potion. Ha! Miss Malfoy wouldn't be so smug when Hermione got the goods on her from Draco.

Strange, it looked more brown then black and was much shorter that she would have thought. Maybe it was just the lighting.

* * *

_Great Hall, Evening_

Jezibell walked back to her spot in the crowd, running her fingers through her hair to move the band back in place. The look on Hermione Granger's face when disarmed was priceless. The muggle-born was a fair opponent. She knew more different types of jinxes and advanced spell work than many of the third years at Durmstrang. But she fought in a cookie-cutter style, copied directly from various spell books, making Granger's attacks incredibly easy to anticipate. All it took was little strategy coupled with bold improvisation and she was handcuffed by her own narrow minded rule abiding nature.

She chanced a glance back at her, expecting to see Granger still glaring at her as usual. Instead, she was showing Potter and Weasley something in her hand that was blocked from view by a dense frizzy mane of brown hair. They started talking in low, conspiratorial voices and excitedly crowding around the whatever-it-was in Granger's palm. The smell of seafood returned, and Jezibell was half tempted to eavesdrop on their plotting.

"I think I had better tell you how to _block _unfriendly spells!" announced Blockhead from the middle of the hall. Yes, that would be nice, now after the junior duel that just took place before his eyes. "Shall we have a volunteer pair? Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley how about you –"

"A bad idea, Professor," Snape sneered. "Longbottom causes devastation with the most simple of spells," he paused to give Neville from the Train a glare that made stronger pupils soil their robes. "We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchly home in a matchbox."

That vile un-washed scumbag. Jezibell watched as poor Neville turned the color of a ripe raspberry under Snape's heckling. A year ago, she would have said it too, scumbag and more. But that was a different time and a different place with a different person. Now she knew to keep her silence and be content to glower at the stage while Snape made his decision for a dueling pair.

"How about Misters Potter and Malfoy?"

Draco swaggered onto the stage, smirking ear to ear. He figured he would pay back Potter for slaughtering the Slytherins at Quidditch. Jezibell envied him, but realized she had her moment of glory with Granger. Potter looked just as full of anticipation and a determined mind to win. Jezibell could tell this small fight was going to be very personal. Blockhead and Snape stood beside each to instruct them on how to use the Shield charm. Or, in Blockhead's case, twirl his wand around like a circus baton and have it flip out of his manicured hands. Snape moved beside Draco and muttered a something-something to him. Jezibell couldn't hear it clearly, but it didn't sound much like 'Protego!' to her. Potter looked a little nervous at having lacked proper demonstration.

"Um...Professor, could you show me that move again." he addressed Blockhead. Draco smirked a derisive laugh and Potter scowled in return. Blockhead gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"Just do as I did, Harry!" he cried jovially.

"What - drop my wand?"

Actually, there was a better solution to the dilemma. All Potter would have to do was cast a spell at Draco and then do what he did for the Shield Charm. Draco would, no doubt, shout the incantation loud and clear for the attention and his wand movements were typically dramatic enough to easily copy. Of course, Draco may have plans to do more than just a magic shield.

"One...Two...Three, GO!"

Draco's wand was already up at 'two' and he started a spark of magic by 'three'. On 'go!' gave his wand a flick for momentum and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"

That can't be good. The tip of his wand exploded and a thick black rope was blasted out of it and it landed on the space between the opponents. Ah, make that a thick black _snake _wending its way to Potter, poising to strike.

Snape stepped forward to get rid of the enraged serpent before it attacked when Blockhead made the mistake of taking charge.

"Allow me!" he waved his wand haphazardly at the snake. It gave a loud bang and the snake became airborne, soaring a good fifteen feet and smacking hard onto the floor not far from where Jezibell stood. The snake rose up, hissing angrily. Its hisses weren't fully coherent, but Jezibell got the gist of it. It wasn't supposed to be here. It was supposed to be curled up in its favorite sunning spot, snoozing somewhere in a faraway jungle and it was dangerously annoyed at whoever disturbed its nap.

Jezibell crouched down to the snake's level. Maybe if she could convince it that they wanted back in the forest just as much as it did, it wouldn't hurt anybody. She started to make a special crooning noise in parseltongue that always worked when Emmy was upset.

"_Come, friend, come to my side. You may get your forest back. Come here by my side. Calm, calm by my side. Friend, I am a friend at your side." _

For a moment it looked like the mantra was working. The snake twisted sinuously around and made a beeline for her, its hissing calming down. Its words were of the exotic jungle home and of the friend who would get it back.

But the students were still panicking. They shuffled around, frantically trying to get out of the snake's way and they made a lot of noise in the process. The snake stopped, confused at the cacophony moving around it. A boy stumbled, pushed by one of his neighbors, and stepped on the snake's tail with big clunking hurtful feet. The snake retaliated in an instant, snapping upright inches from the boy's terrified face. It was Huffy the Hufflepuff - aka Justin Finch-Fletchley. Small school. The snake hissed menacingly, showing its long rapier-like fangs.

"_Stop! Leave him alone!"_

Harry Potter, suddenly, was there in circle of frightened onlookers. His hand was outstretched to the snake, as though to ward it off with the gesture. He was speaking in parseltongue. The snake listened. It closed it mouth, obediently turned away from Finch-Fletchley, flicked out its tongue pleasantly in Potter's direction and dropped its head back to the floor in submission. He looked to Finch-Fletchley, smiling like he hadn't just done a creepy bit of extremely rare and feared magic.

"What do you think you're playing at?" exclaimed the boy, shivering with frightened aftershock, "Both of you!" he added, looking at Jezibell now with wide, traumatized eyes. He ran out of the hall, several of his friends behind him. Snape reached the snake now and sent it back to the sunny forest grove in a puff of black smoke. Weasley and Hermione Granger were quickly at Potter's side, looking just as freaked as the rest of the hall. Jezibell stepped back from the empty space where the snake had vanished, half the school's gaze following her out of the Dueling club and the other half watching Potter.

As soon as she was out of the Great Hall, Jezibell broke into a run. She needed to be alone, needed to think about what she saw. She ducked inside an empty classroom. The candles were unlit, so Jezibell closed her eyes against the musty darkness and leaned into the cold wall.

Right, so it turns out she _wasn't _the only human parselmouth Hogwarts had to offer, but that didn't mean...Not necessarily anyway. It didn't mean that... Did it?

Jezibell didn't understand how it was possible for Harry Potter know the language of snakes to begin with. There were two ways to become a parselmouth. You could learn it the hard way from books, like how Jezibell taught it to herself so she could speak to Emmy. She received the snake-feline hybrid as a birthday gift from her father when she was seven and at first the young cat was terribly fickle, refusing to cooperate with her new mistress. Preschool Jezibell figured that since Emmy was part snake if she could learn how to speak the language they would be friends. She studied for half a year on her own with the dusty archives in Father's library before it began making sense. Once she knew rudimentary levels to communicate the snake cat indulged to help her learn the rest. Now parseltongue was almost a second language to her and Emmy a bonded familiar. But make no mistake, neither accomplishment came easy. The language was tricky due to the interspecies crossover, vocals and hissing rough on the untrained mouth. Jezibell was lucky she started learning as an impressionable seven year old. There were still some sounds she wasn't familiar with yet.

The only other way was to be a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. The Heir of Slytherin.


	4. Holly Days

Holly Days

_Fourth Floor Corridor, December Twenty-fifth_

**We wish you a Merry Christmas, We wish you a merry Christmas**

**We wish you a Merry Christmas and a** _$%!#&_**New Year!**

Jezibell leapt back a few paces from the spiriting suit of armor. She had quickly learned not to trust the ones that swore at you while caroling. Sure enough, Peeves the Poltergeist zipped out from inside the helmet and flew upside down the empty corridor, cackling maniacally at his own cleverness. Of course it wasn't always Peeves inside. Before Winter Break started, several students (probably trying to show up the Weasley twins) managed a ventriloquist charm on several enchanted pieces in the castle. Emmy stalked ahead of her those last few weeks, looking for routes around the Sir Nittlebreath and the Arch Duke of Catsenbarrel. It was actually an educational moment. Jezibell wouldn't have try to listen to Professor Binns for that perilous essay on Knights of the Middle Ages her classmates were all sweating over, had new knowledge of the castle's secret passage ways and sort-cuts to all her classes. And she had added several new curse words in her repertoire.

Now the long halls of Hogwarts were all but devoid of these joyous tidings. There was a mad dash to sign McGonagall's form to go home for the holidays and a recent attack on Nearly Headless Nick and Nearly Bit By Angry Snake Finch-Fletchley had everyone up in panic.

On the snowy December mid-morning of the attack, Jezibell had heard the ancient monster stir in the wall behind her, just as on Halloween. Clearer than she had heard it in the waking world for months, curiosity to know the face of her tormentor propelled her from sanctuary in the common room. Down the stairs, around a corridor, right turn, left turn. She hardly registered where it was going. It traveled just ahead of her, always just ahead of her. It turned into a particularly shady hallway, the light from the dim torches was barely enough to see by. Something immense had shifted in the darkness a few yards in front of her. There was a gasp and a startled half-shout that was quickly muffled. The thing heaved its huge outline and moved off down the next corridor, disappearing completely into the shadows. Jezibell had stood frozen, pressing her back against the slick, stone wall. But the thing just passed her by, like she didn't even register on its internal tasty-human-food radar.

Footsteps were approaching in the lit hallway she had come from. She should have run, fled from the scene of the crime, but she was still getting over her moment of terror. What had caused it not to notice her? What made her so special?

A panicky male voice said, "Lumos!"

Wandlight splashed the scene. Justin Finch-Fletchley lying paralyzed on the floor and a few feet ahead of him was... Nick? Sense making not. Ghosts can't be touched by the living. They lived in their own sort of dimension, not alive but not truly gone from this world - unaffected by either side. This was impossibility, as Granger would say. Another impossibility (though one that was becoming chillingly plausible all the time) was a wide-eyed Harry Potter with his face illuminated in all its underrated glory looking directly at her.

Classes ended a few seconds later, and the halls filled with students who quickly noticed the petrified Hufflepuff and smoldering ghost is their midst. Professor McGonagall had marched them directly to the headmaster's office.

"Now you two have a seat and wait here, until Professor Dumbledore comes to decide what to do you," She had said before leaving and shutting the door behind them. They had pulled up opposing chairs, content to glower across. After several minutes of eye ammo being pumped steadily, Potter pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose and Dumbledore's pet bird combusted.

"You're the devil," concluded Jezibell, watching ash settle on the charred stand where a molting red feather duster turkey stood moments ago.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter had spat back, going paler, "You're a millimeter from being expelled, so I wouldn't be so cocky."

"Not a first for either of us," She had reminded him subtly of Halloween and the Deathday party. He turned away in annoyance, casting a worried glance at the empty stand. The headmaster himself arrived at that point, smoothing ruffled feathers over. He told them the bird was a phoenix, christened Fawkes, and showed them both the newborn chick. Still, Jezibell had to wonder.

To the point of the visit to the Headmaster's study, Dumbledore told them confidentially that he did not believe Potter or Jezibell was responsible for the attacks, but he did ask them if they knew anything about the real cause.

She should have told him then. Should have told him of the mysterious voices she had been hearing since the first week at Hogwarts, should have told about the dark chamber in the bathroom on the second floor, should have told him her suspicions regarding the person across the table from her, should have told of the creature that had passed feet in front of her today, should have told him about how the whole school hated her for things that was only some of her fault.

But she just looked at him, straight in the clear blue eyes on that old, wise face and said calmly,"No of course not, Professor. I'd be sure to tell you if I did."

He then turned his serene gaze to Potter and asked him of the same.

"No, sir, there is nothing."

Though it wasn't spoken aloud, Harry Potter's green eyes narrowed suspiciously as if to say 'not yet'.

That was a week ago, the day after the dueling club, and while the idea that Harry Potter was the heir seemed daft at first, facts were starting to add up to support it. Justin told him himself he was a muggleborn, Creevey must have bragged it while in a fan boy mode and Potter had read the Kwikspell letter that condemned Mrs. Norris. Creevey had been found not a hallway or two away from the hospital, where Potter was recuperating. Another intriguing connection was that no matter where the attacks commenced the Thing liked to hang around Gryffindor tower. Before the pep talk with Emmy, Jezibell thought this meant it was stalking her personally but, as Emmy so tactfully pointed out, this was a self-centered assumption. She was pureblood, unrelated to Slytherin and had made clear she wanted nothing to do with it, so there was no reason for it to still be fixated on her now that it had an alternative master. This master was very likely a Gryffindor. There was no reason for the monster to so consistently be at the tower otherwise because contrary to popular assumption, Gryffindor house is not the densest in mudblood populous; kindly turn off at the kitchens for the Hufflepuff common room if you want ready victims.

So let's review. To qualify for the coveted post, "Slytherin heir", the applicant must be: a Gryffindor, a parselmouth, have knowledge of victims' blood status and consistently at or nearby the scene of the attack. Sound like anybody familiar?

To boost this theory, the Holy Trinity kept a close, unnerving eye on Jezibell since the double attack. Their frequent glances and anticipating smirks made her wonder if they were planning to do something to _her _next. Jezibell had tried some snooping of her own, if only for self-protection. Extracurricular research on whatever information on the Potter family wasn't already publicized. Maybe they _were_ great great great grandsons of Salazar Slytherin or something. But after a few days of old wizarding records and rereading the Hogwarts library copy of Nature's Nobility she could find nothing of interest on the Potters. Their family line could be traced several centuries of purebloods, some of them crossing paths with the Malfoy and Black families as it did. They'd lived in Godric's Hollow for the most part and had many fingers in historic events, namely the goblin riots that took place in the area. Following the female line of descendants, Jezibell traced present-day-Potter's ancestors all the way back to the Peverell Family, where she lost the trail altogether. It was pretty impressive, but didn't lend the information Jezibell needed. Potter did not have direct relations to Salazar Slytherin or any of the four founders of Hogwarts.

Meanwhile, life at the great school itself had reached an all-time low. One of the benefits of your only friend being a cat is that you oceans of free time in which to do your homework. Or procrastinate on said homework that you don't care about seeing as you're an inch from expulsion anyway. Her grades dropped. Jezibell was spending increasingly more time at the library as it was clear she wasn't welcome on the Quidditch pitch anymore (some of those suits of armor got very personal with comments about her mother), reading her way through the Hogwarts supply of magic fiction and receiving the occasional wayside glare from Granger, who frequented the Potions section. Jezibell almost signed up with the rest of the frantic second year to take the Hogwarts Express home for Christmas - when she remembered her parents didn't celebrate muggle holidays and wouldn't appreciate the prodigal daughter on their doorstep anyway.

Some of her clothing went missing in the wash a few days ago. She tracked down the house-elves in charge of the Hogwarts Laundromat, demanding to know where her lost linens were. Blinky and Dipkins swore on their tea-cozies they had not seen the articles, so Jezibell tried Dobby as a last resort to relocate her robes. The family elf promised he did not know where they were, but something funny was up with him. He fidgeted the whole time through his humbling apologies, his bony little hand jerked upward every few second like a nervous twitch. Jezibell wondered if the elf, who was always a little off, was finally cracking under her father's impossible standards. She could sympathize.

Jezibell spoke parseltongue more than English these days as Emmy was her only companion. This attracted even more frightened looks from students since the brainier ones put two and two together and figured out what it was they were speaking in. Jezibell didn't care as she already received so many glares and whispers on a daily basis. Most of were ignorable, but there was one person that could still make her indignation bristle. Draco completely ignored her since the Sorting Hat proclaimed her a Gryffindor. The brother and sister were never ideal playmates for each other - night and day, Mother called them (Take a guess which is night. Go on.) - but 12 years of sibling-hood should count for something. Support for family in times of need. Malfoy family creed: We are one. Apparently not. Judging by Draco's laughter at Parkinson's Emmy-related snide comment, he considered her family ties non-existent.

So while watching the poltergeist zoom out of sight, Jezibell felt his profanity summed up her current mood. Peeved.

The Christmas dinner made by 100 top-level house elves in the decked out Great Hall was extravagant, none the less. Golden tinsel and tiny stars of pure light set the domed room ablaze, upon the evergreen trees brought in by the Gamekeeper, so covered with baubles and ornaments the needles could hardly be seen. Fairies danced in the warm of glowing red and green balls that hovered above the long tables and glorious musical medleys seeped from the walls. Professor Dumbledore gave a tailor made uplifting speech about facing challenges and finding comfort in times of hardship to the remaining 10% of the students. There were so few left that Jezibell's customary seat at the end of the Gryffindor table didn't seem so isolated. After a few helpings of turkey, hot mashed potatoes and savory pudding, it was hard to feel too resentful of the muggle-lovers holiday. Even the evil-eyes from Potter, Weasley and Granger seemed less offensive than usual. The trio left the Great Hall early, the boys turning off into the direction of the dungeons while Hermione Granger proceeded to the stairs. Jezibell may have found this separation suspicious (the trio was joined at the hip during the day) but she was too content at the moment to conduct an investigation.

* * *

_Great Hall, February Fourteenth_

New Year's Day came and went. Jezibell personally didn't find '93 much better than '92 had been. Winter Break ended and the students who fled the hallowed halls for Christmas were back again and they seemed to have obtained new levels of paranoia over the holidays. Must be something in the eggnog. The stories that circulated now chilled worse than the weather. Students terrified of the attacker and worried that it may be one of their own. Some of them were even (gasp) wondering if it might be Harry Potter. Scary stuff. People hurried from class to class in the halls, clustered into tightly knit bundles of best friends, whispering. Always whispering.

Everyone was now a self-proclaimed detective, poking and prying into personal business. All wanting to be the first to solve the mystery of the chamber of secrets and catch the Heir of Slytherin. Jezibell knew they wouldn't, couldn't, find anything on her family. The Malfoys formed a procession through historical archives as pureblooded outspokenly prejudiced Slytherins, but there were no connections to Salazar himself. Same went for her mother's side, the Blacks, and anything unpleasant would have long since been bribed from records of Wizarding history. In addition to being pure as the Fountain of Fair Fortune, all of Jezibell's ancestors had been the cream of society and rolling in gold. She had nothing to worry about in terms of persistently nosy scholars.

For undisclosed reasons, Hermione Granger landed herself in the hospital wing for Boxing Day. Parvati and Lavender exchanged hyperventilative theories in the girls' dormitory late into the night, but Jezibell knew what was really happened. She had sent Emmy to spy on Granger's ward and the cat caught a glimpse of the furry face when the school nurse gave Hermione her evening potion. Jezibell's usual practiced stoic was put to the test in the weeks that followed.

As mentioned, Potter was taking some of the heat in addition to Jezibell now but this was not enough in common to spawn empathy. Unlike Jezibell, Harry Potter still managed in light of parselmouth revelation to have friends. Human friends, anyways. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger (hospitalized or not) would never desert their shepherd, even when subjected to the accusing glares of half the school. Weasley's brothers, the classless class clowns, turned the Harry Potter suspicions into a big ha-ha. They waved cloves of garlic in his face as he walked to class and cracked loud jokes about the Pottercentric theories in the common room. Jezibell found these almost as irritating as the snide comments they aimed at her. For some reason.

And so, with the school on edge of a collective nervous breakdown; teachers and staff striving to maintain some kind of order in the castle; monsters in the walls able to touch even the long deceased, what does the worldly wise Gilderoy Lockhart think would be the right thing to in the middle of such a crisis? Throw a Valentine's Day party.

Ridiculous? Inappropriate? Worthy of a trip to a Saint Mungo's private ward? Maybe. But that didn't stop him from stringing up pink bangles overnight and unloading buckets of confetti upon the unsuspecting Great Hall at breakfast, February the 14th. Emmy retreated to the girls' dormitory for health reasons and it took a lot of effort for Jezibell not to follow.

Garishly colored corridors taken into account, the professors (the few who still maintained a grasp on sanity) put up a valiant effort to keep lessons running smoothly. This was a challenging feat as Goldilocks hired a surly of dwarfs to play dress-up cupids and deliver valentines to individual students during class. Jezibell found it miraculous that he could stuff a bad-tempered dwarf into a tutu given his plight with pixies. Even better, they were literate enough to pass out the Valentines to their correct owners, something Jezibell discovered upon receiving her own baby pink card after lunch.

Don't get too excited. It was coated with stink pellets on the inside and came with a barbed Dandelion seed most likely planted from the Weasley twins. It produced an odor similar to a mildewey grease trap left far too long under the sink when flushed down a toilet. This move sprung the dormant seed to life and it proceeded to throttle Jezibell with rapidly growing thorny vines as the wretched card swirled down the drain. Happy Valentine's Day.

The card-carrying cupids seemed to be following an alphabetized list and in midafternoon while the second year Gryffindors were hustling to Charms, one of them caught up to Harry Potter.

The squat little creature marched through the thick crowd of students, announcing it had a musical message for Guess Who. Jezibell failed to notice it in time, still trying to rid herself of the Dandelion that was firmly wrapped around her left arm, and consequently received the elbow-ribs treatment. She shifted forward with her classmates, yanking on the stem as she went, to watch the show. The dwarf managed to pin down its quarry in the center of the crowd. It tripped the Boy-Who-Lived flat on his face and plopped its rear on his ankles.

"And here is your singing Valentine!"

Oh boy.

_"His eyes are as green as a pickled toad,_

_His hair is as black as dark board!_

_I wish he was mine, he's really divine,_

_The hero who conquered the Dark Lord!"_

There is nothing more satisfying in this world then watching the person you envy most lying on the floor with a ripped book bag and being sung a homemade love song by a reedy voiced dwarf in a frilly pink tutu while half the first and second year are laughing themselves sick. Nothing.

By Nimue, why hadn't _she _thought to do this?

Prefect Weasley, drawn no doubt by the unlawful laughter of merry children, was on the scene in three seconds trying to disperse the crowd, a true test of merit as most were still doubling over in laughter. While the Hero Who Conquered the Dark Lord was nursing his pride, Draco snuck up from his clutch of Slytherins and swiped a book from Harry Potter's open bag_._

_No_. The brief moment that the maroon leather flashed into view, Jezibell recognized it completely and inexplicably. It was the Diary. The loosely bound book that had sat in the glass case in her father's study for all her life. The one that whispered to her at night, in the dark. Whispers Draco said he couldn't hear. But Jezibell could. She could hear them coiling around her in her sleep, fear tight as a constrictors bind. Dreams of swirling colors and foreign memories. Nightmares that sent her on a pre-school treasure hunt, Emmy padding at her side, creeping through the deadly dark hollow silence of Malfoy Manor at midnight to her father's forbidden study were the it lay, untouched by time. The Diary. Then the lights came on, blazing blinding white hot light. Her father's pale face livid in her own. Never, never, never, never go into my study again. He shouted the word study, but Jezibell knew what he it was he really meant. The Diary. That Draco was now tossing hand to hand like a new toy.

Stop! No, idiot, put it down! Draco, you moron! She wanted to wrench the small red brown book from his slim hands, rip its cursed pages, tear them to shreds and throw them into the Gryffindor common room fire, where they could crumple and disintegrate into tiny piles of ashes as be swept away by house elves with the rest of the burnt wood.

"Wonder what Potter's written in this?"

How did he not remember this horrid little book from the forbidden study? How had Harry Potter, of all people, gotten a hold of it? Why was hell not breaking loose at this moment?

"Hand it over, Malfoy," said Prefect Weasley, holding his hand out expectantly.

"When I've had a look!" taunted Draco, waving the thing in front of him as he sneered. Harry Potter pulled out his wand just as Prefect Weasley started to chide Draco some more.

"Expelliarmus!"

The Diary flew out of Draco's hand and landed neatly in Ronald Weasley's. He cried a triumphant 'Got it!' and he and Potter, gathered up the busted book bag, took off down the corridor, the Diary flapping loosely, visible Weasley's hand. Jezibell still hadn't moved. For all her mental shrieking, literary destruction and the angry Dandelion constricting her arm, she didn't make a sound.

Charms was torture. Jezibell sat alone (She managed to ditch the Dandelion by smashing the head against a wall until it was a green and yellow smear. She hated Herbology. Actually, she seemed to be developing a thematic loathing for things beginning with 'H' in general) two desks behind Harry Potter and Weasley. The Diary was stuffed haphazardly into the ripped book bag and it hung out halfway open on the seam with bloody red ink dripping off it in perfect nabbing distance. Weasley's patched wand was malfunctioning and both boys had a constant distraction of purple bubbles floating around their heads. It was taking all of Jezibell's concentration not to lean over to the open book pluck it out of the - **no**, not going to happen. Book=evil. She didn't want to touch it with a ten foot broomstick. But it was just hanging there and technically it _was _her property... Just reach over and - AH! Could that clock move just a little slower? Time was passing at a glacial pace. The ink slid off the enchanted cover in large lazy drips like water off a duck, infuriatingly leaving no damage behind. She couldn't even call Emmy to make an excuse to get out of there. Stupid Harry Potter, stupid parselmouth, and stupid diary that was tantalizingly easy to steal...

Jezibell ultimately won the war with her conscious, but she still all but sprinted out of Flitwick's classroom when the bell rang. She needed to find Emmy, fast.

"_You are sure that's the same Diary?"_

Jezibell was having a hissed conversation with Emmy under the pretense of finishing Transfiguration homework. Her slovenly ways finally caught up to her earlier in the week when McGonagall tracked her down and threatened a week of detention if she didn't turn in a decent paper by tomorrow. Jezibell took the opportunity to give Emmy the rundown of the Diary encounter. Discussing with Emmy wasn't the same as talking to a person. It was more like having an argument with your conscience. If your conscience was a pushy serpentine-felid with a wicked sarcastic streak, that is. She scratched out a few of her feebler sentences and ink spurted across the Transforming Teacups versus Water Goblets essay.

"_Positive. But how did he get it? It's not something that would be left lying about."_

"_Actually it kind of is, being a raggedy old book…"_

"_Father could have sent it to somebody else. Snape, maybe. Remember that time he came to the Manor about a wine glass set that turned whatever was in it to poison? He's our go-to guy for Dark Artifacts. Potter picked up the book like the git he is because it said Diary on the front."_

"_Why would Potter want Snape's Diary?"_

"_To use as blackmail. No, he's not that good. To use for his personal amusement. Or spread the contents around the school as a distraction from his possibly being the heir of Slytherin."_

"_If he's not good for blackmail, he's not good for clamor in the east. Besides, if this thing was personally delivered to Snape, when would Potter ever get the chance to see it much less touch it? Like you said, it's not the sort of thing you leave around."_

"_If you're smart like Snape. Maybe Father made Dobby take it to him it instead of by owl. It would be faster, and no way would that thing could make it past inspection. Dobby might have just left it lying about outside Snape's study. Potter has detention with him every other week. Yes, this makes sense. This was what Dobby was at Hogwarts for in November - delivering the Diary."_

"_And then he stopped by you for your sunny disposition?"_

"_Dobby lives to serve the Malfoy family."_

"_Yes, but he said Father sent him for you, specifically. He wouldn't be allowed to lie about that since you asked him directly. Maybe that Diary wasn't intended for Snape or Potter. It was meant for you."_

"… _no. He -"_

"_After last year, do you really think there's anything your Father wouldn't do?"_

"_But what would be the point?"_

"_Punishment. You expected it for being made Gryffindor and here you go. He had Dobby leave it with your school books. He wouldn't think you could remember what it looked like from four years ago. You'd open it because it said Diary on the front. Potter might have found it by accident, or he could have been looking in your things to see if there was evidence for you suspecting him being the heir of Slytherin, or to see if you were the heir of Slytherin if he isn't. Either way, he found a book that said Diary on the front." _

"… _I wonder what is written in it."_

"_You could ask him."_

"_Why didn't I think of that in the first place? I will tell the most likely candidate for the Heir of Slytherin, who coincidentally hates my guts, that the Diary is a forbidden book from my Fathers' study laced with dark magic and the powers of hell, and this veritable grenade of evil should be given to me for reasons I can barely articulate regarding my sanity."_

"_Alright, you have to steal it then."_

"_I don't _have_ to do anything. Whatever curse is inside that Diary is now Potter's to deal with and no longer my problem."_

_"Like how that kid being tortured at Durmstrang wasn't your problem?"_

Jezibell used a quick siphoning charm to clear away most of the spill, but a since it had already dried mostly, this had little effect.

"_That's why I'm not making messes this time. Lesson learned. Meddling with things that aren't your business only makes it worse for you. Look where I am now."_

Emmy's whiskered mouth curled into a little sneer, "_You are exactly where you want to be. You think you would be having any better a time catering to Slytherins? You heard the singing hat: you are a Gryffindor, you always have been, whether you like it or not. And whether Father, Karkaroff or Harry Potter likes it or not a Gryffindor is unable to just sit here and back down when you have the option to _do something_!"_

Jezibell didn't answer Emmy immediately and wet the parchment, bleeding out the ink. She siphoned again, sucking up both fluids and proceeded to completely rewrite the line, remembering to add the Principles of Transfiguration she had forgotten. The black spots were starting to dry on the essay. It wouldn't look very neat under Professor McGonagall's critical eye, but would have to do. Emmy was wrong. Jezibell did have control over her _Gryffindor_ nature, now. Last year she simply hadn't known the consequences to it.

"_I'll give it a week. If nothing happens, then there's no concern."_

* * *

_History of Magic classroom, April First_

A week passed without event. The secrets of the Diary were not unleashed upon the castle, Harry Potter did not drop dead or start acting demonic and the whispers in the walls seemed to have disappeared altogether. The same was true for the next week, and the one after that, and the one after that. Jezibell dissolved the raw plan to seize the Diary and Hogwarts seemed to be calming down. By Easter, the overwhelming sense of a two-ton anvil hanging over everyone's' head was starting to fade in the absence of a culprit and the undercurrent of panic was meeting a dam of common sense. Even Harry Potter, Weasley and Granger (now tail-less) seemed to give up whatever scheme they had involving Jezibell. Their glares became less frequent, less personal and more frustrated than threatening. Jezibell understood that they must have hit the dead end she knew they would in her history, but couldn't help feel relieved all the same.

But for Jezibell Malfoy relief is an emotion that cannot be permitted to thrive and must be killed swiftly with fire, water and dungbombs. Lots and lots of dungbombs. April Fool's Day hit as an unexpected mallet over the head from a malicious clown. She stumbled, Potions to Astronomy, bombarded with various slapped together pranks on all sides not trusting anything she touched or anywhere she moved to be secure. She tried to escape via the secret passage ways but biting tea ups and porridge creatures always caught up to her. It disturbed her to think that those clever little nooks had never belonged to her alone and her enemies had always had the ability to find her but let her get away with evasion anyway so the moment when such delusions of security were ripped away it would be all the sweeter. This of course would require a ridiculous amount of foresight and control, not to mentioned vindictiveness that Jezibell could not rationally attribute to any of her classmates. But rational was put aside and she was snarling fierce as Emmy by lunch, which was left uneaten while she took refuge in a deserted hallway, not daring enter the Great Hall fearing what booby traps lay in wait for her there.

In said deserted hallway she and Emmy plotted while everyone else ate. She had to get even and get even quick while revenge would still be timely. She had no specific target in mind; there had been far too many disconnected attempts for it to have been the work of a single person or truly organized group. Jezibell settled for a large scale display of wrath, a problem seeing as there was neither a fleet of Zonko's products nor mass magicking abilities at her disposal. What she did have was a roll of leftover parchment in her book bag, a snake cat and the mob psychology of the Hogwarts student body. She had an idea.

In History of magic Jezibell passed her first note. She chucked it underhand, across the room to an air vent that blew it diagonally to Lavender Brown. Brown was sure she got it from Patil and it was written sloppily enough so it could pass as the scribbles Patil excused for handwriting.

_**Ravenclaw team members don't wash**_

Brown giggled and wrote back to Patil, Patil wrote to Finnegan, Finnegan wrote to Thomas, Thomas wrote to Neville, Neville wrote to Potter and Jezibell watched the rumor ripple through the room. On the way out the door, she passed Granger and dropped a ball of paper neatly into her book bag when she wasn't looking. It read "_you're next"_ in red ink.

In Herbology she left a note claiming, _**Weasleys are going to get Ernie on the way to the wash**_

In Potions, _**Hufflepuffs think we don't wash**_

Along with assorted messages, threats and offhand ideas tossed around in the halls with the common theme. By dinner, the school was simmering, seething with personal insults and awakenings of age old prejudices. Little fights broke off in the corridors, nasty looks and cold shoulders infected everyone. Emmy told her confidentially the tension was about to snap any second. What better place for such a snapping than Feast of Fools that evening?

Jezibell sat in her normal seat (after dutifully setting off the fart cream spread there) and waited as a burrowing spider peering out of its concealed hole for the right moment. She positioned Emmy a few spots down from her and began scanning for a good starter. It didn't take long to find. When a large notably hotheaded Gryffindor fifth year ceased his glowering at the Ravenclaw beater behind him, she chucked a ball of parchment at the latter's head, simultaneously as Emmy tapped the Gryffindor on the shoulder. Both spun around, furious at the other and the Ravenclaw held up the note (_**Face stuffing vulture, do you ever wash?**_)

"Meat-headed pussycat, you don't know _how_ to bloody wash!"

"_Yeah_? Well meathead _this_!"

As the large Gryffindor picked a steak off the nearest platter and flung it at the Ravenclaw Jezibell quietly walked out of the hall, calmly shoving a Hufflepuff sitting behind Slytherin Captain Markus Flint's face into his stew as she went.

So began the second largest food fight in the history of the school. It lasted for nineteen minutes and forty eight seconds before a baked potato covered McGonagall managed to diffuse it. Casualties included sixteen broken noses, twenty one bloody noses, thirty nine people with things up their noses that had to be magically removed, eighty three bruises, an outbreak of pimples, two broken stools, a broken wrist, a re-broken wand, the death of a small turtle catching shrub, two hundred points deducted from each house and about a hundred and ninety five detentions. When asked what caused the madness the reply was, "Something to do with who doesn't wash." April fool.

A few weeks passed, with the castle was on the recovery and it was time to remind the students why they were there in the first place: school. And, more specifically, future careers and choice classes starting next fall. A few months ago, Jezibell would have employed one of her new phrases from the Hogwarts Season Greetings and tossed the bit of useless parchment from McGonagall into the fireplace without further ado. Now, however, it seemed she may just squeak out of Hogwarts without a second expulsion her permanent record, she decided to take the opportunity for new lessons more seriously.

Other students got letters from parents, relatives and family friends daily with fountains of advice and experience. Jezibell received no such fan mail. She already knew exactly what her parents wanted and wasn't fooled to think they wanted it for _her_. In a brief rebellious streak she chose Muggle Studies just to spite them, and passed over Divination for what seemed to be the more practical option in Arithmancy. Jezibell met a real Seer once at one of her father's dinner parties and 'The Beyond' didn't hold much interest for her.

Care of Magical Creatures was a tough call. Jezibell enjoyed time with animals with more basic instincts then human prejudice, but at the same time if the professor brought anything serpentine to class it would be another Dueling Club. She decided for it in the end. Maybe Emmy would meet some new friends just as mixed up as she was. Ancient Runes, like most foreign languages especially dead ones, was just waste of time and efforts unless you actually had plans to go and study real text. This and the fact Hermione Granger could be viewed in the library any day of the week burrowing into decrepit books with twisted letters and hieroglyphics aided Jezibell's decision. Thanks but no thanks.

The Quidditch season was back on, Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. With the match weeks away both teams practiced to best of their ability, but anyone who attended the training sessions could see canary yellow corpses dotting the field in the near future. The crazed brilliance of Oliver Wood Jezibell identified in the first term took on new zeal. He drove his team with inspired enthusiasm and kept them on target with a disciplined air that even got the Weasley twins' heads in the game. The defeat of Slytherin pumped the Gryffindors with a passion and confidence that Wood used to fuel his well-oiled scarlet machine. Those Badgers were good as beat.

Two days before the match, the nightmares returned. It wasn't the same as before, the other times she was an eavesdropper, but this time something was actually trying to contact her personally. Get her attention, or recapture it. It did a good job on that. The dream was of a fluid rush of loneliness, pain and promises. Lies. She was catapulted awake by a girl's high pitched scream with the image of the Diary swimming in her vision. She ripped open the hangings on her four posters, half expecting to see one of her roommates cowering in fear. But they were all fine, all asleep, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown's curtains fluttered slightly with their easy, untroubled breathing.

Jezibell, out of extreme 1 am paranoia, crept softly over to the other side of the dormitory. Making sure Hermione Granger's bed was still occupied, just in case. When she saw the mane of light brown hair rising and falling gently on the pillow, she breathed a tense sigh of relief. If someone was petrified in her dormitory, her fate would be sealed. But everyone was fine. Go back to sleep and forget about it, just a silly dream, nothing to do with anything. She couldn't even convince herself.

* * *

_Nemesis_

Emmy awoke to Jezibell stroking her fur in gentle raking motions. The cat didn't open her eyes for a minute, taking in what she could with her other senses. Below was the stiff, wooden surface of the bedside table she curled up on to sleep. It was hard and flat, but not so hard Emmy's claws couldn't tear up a good portion of it if she wanted. She remembered being was near a window and wasn't surprise when her sensitive ears pricked to a twittering song bird on outside. She licked the air and tasted the familiarity of her mistress close by, rising distinct from the other muddled scents of the girl's dormitory. The second odor was stale though and she didn't hear the even breathing or incessant chatter of the other females that used the room so she knew she and Jezibell were alone. This was a good thing. Judging by the tense rougher-than-usual strokes Jezibell ran across her short layered fur and the anxious sweat rolling off her, she had something to tell Emmy.

The snake-cat opened her eyes and rolled over.

"_What is it?"_

She watched patiently as Jezibell's eyebrows, shadows under her bangs, creased together as she hesitated.

"_The dreams are back...sort of," _she said finally. Emmy sat upright on her haunches looking at her mistress curiously.

"_Really? Usually when you have them I can hear something moving around too, and you start mumbling stuff in English."_

_"I know, but it wasn't to do with the monster this time, or the chamber at all. It was the Diary. The visions were just as before and I know it was the same calling."_

"_What did it say?"_

"_I don't… know. I'm not sure if it even did, really. I can't remember words or a message, it all blurred into the images. It wanted me to pay attention to what it wasn't saying. It woke me up with at the sight of a screaming girl, but she sounded so real I looked over Granger, Patil and Brown to make sure their lungs weren't being ripped out or something."_

"_Well, mission accomplished then. But __a girl? It can't you, you never screamed. And I thought you were over the nightmares the Diary used to give you anyway."_

"_I didn't say it made sense, and honestly I don't want to wait around until it does. It's invaded my head again. It wants me back."_ She shook her head slightly at the nonsensical statement. It never had her to begin with. _"Never mind. It's messing with me, and that's all the provocation I need to act on. _

"_So, back to grab 'n' go?" _asked Emmy. She at least had no issues with stealing from the boys' dormitory.

"_Yes," _stated Jezibell shortly. Emmy knew she didn't want to linger on the thought of the heist, just to do it. Get the Diary, get rid of it. Save herself and a kid who is going to hate her for it. Like ripping off a muggle bandage strip. "_Harry Potter goes out for Quidditch practice directly after dinner. We can wait in the common room until we see him and the team leave and then take it."_

Emmy dosed in the big brown armchair in front of the fireplace while Jezibell attended her lessons. It was a very cozy spot and she could hear everyone who came or went from Gryffindor tower, but not so loud in her ears that she wasn't able to catnap. Once or twice an inattentive student almost sat on her. Emmy gave them a territorial snarl and they left her alone after that. The Quidditch team, judging by the smell of their woody broomsticks and uniformed confidence, trooped from their dormitories a few hours before dusk. Emmy tasted the air, checking that Potter was indeed with them and settled back down to wait for Jezibell. A few other people came and went from the boys' dormitory, but none of their scents foreign. Jezibell returned not long after the Quidditch team started practicing. She had a bit of ham leftover from dinner that she gave to Emmy, who snapped it up gratefully.

_"Anybody else up there?"_ She asked quietly, glancing at the left staircase.

"_Not a soul,"_ Emmy assured her, gulping down the last of the ham, _"All the other males left with the Quidditch team. It should be empty now."_

Jezibell walked across the deserted common room the foot of the staircase. Emmy followed her, stopping on the gold embroidered rug a few feet from her mistress. She curled up on the carpet, to all appearances in a deep sleep, _"Ready."_

Muscles tensed in the leisure position and her ears completely alert. If anybody so much as glanced in their direction, she would know. She stayed as a statue, listening to Jezibell's boots ascend the staircase to the boys dormitory, tasting the ingrained masculine odor in the air. A door opened a few yards above her, must be the one to the second year's bedroom, and she heard a sharp gasp of surprise.

"_Emmy! Get up here, now!"_

The snake-felid leapt the stairs two at time. What happened? What could have gone wrong? She padded into the second years' sleeping quarters where Jezibell stood tensed in shock. The place looked as if a tornado had hit. Books and articles of clothing were strewn all around the bed closest to the window, the one that smelled like Potter.

"_So Potter is a slob," _said Emmy, _"What's the deal?"_

"_I think someone already got the Diary," _whispered Jezibell, even though the room was empty but for them, "_Look, somebody tipped his bag upside-down like they were doing a hasty search__. I don't see it with any of these." _

She picked up a well-read copy of Quidditch Through the Ages from the pile. Emmy tasted the air, trying to find the distinct flavor of the aged leather-bound book cloyed with protective charms but couldn't locate it anywhere, "_Do you know who?"_

_"Yeah, someone went through Potter's stuff very recently." _Emmy sniffed, using her nose to get a clearer scent, "One_ of the red-heads."_

_"A Weasley? Which one?"_

"_I can't tell. None of those kids have a distinct flavor. Too many second hand robes. They all sort of mush together into one 'Weasley' scent." _Emmy wrinkled her nose in annoyance. Jezibell was still doubtful.

_"Maybe Weasley was helping Potter find something he had misplaced when they were in a hurry to get to Quidditch practice. Maybe it was the Diary, and they still haven't found it. "_

She started rummaging through the overturned book bag and Emmy pawed the scattered contents on the floor, making the mess even further. They looked everywhere in the room; through the book pile, under all the beds, between the sheets, little nooks behind the windowsill - nothing. Emmy even made a brief search through the male undergarments to no avail.

_"He could have taken the Diary with him to the stadium" _suggested Emmy half-heartedly after twenty minutes of all but running over the room with a fine-tooth comb.

"_So they could use it for a bludger target?"_ Jezibell roughly sifted through Potter's school books for the fourth time in row.

"_There's nothing here." _She concluded decisively. _"We need to back to the common room before the practice is done. I never thought someone could be more paranoid then I am, but it looks like Potter keeps the stupid book on him at all times."_

She let the bag fall untidily back to its original position and left the ransacked dormitory, her boots delivering audible punishment to innocent stairs. Emmy yawned and followed.


	5. Judging by a Cover

Judging by a Cover

_Quidditch Stadium, May Eighth_

The next day there was another attack. Another double attack. It happened just before the Quidditch match while the majority of the school was at the stadium waiting for the game to start. Everything halted when Professor McGonagall walked grimly up to the commentator's podium with a large, bright purple megaphone in her hand that contrasted her bleak expression. She commanded, by way of the megaphone, for all students to return to their dormitories immediately and called off the match. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were exempted from this order and, for a moment, Jezibell wondered if they had been found responsible. She soon learned the real reason.

The victims of this petrifaction were Hermione Granger, found in a corridor near the library holding a hand-mirror and a Prefect from Ravenclaw. New security systems were put into play as soon as all the Gryffindors returned to the tower. There was now a six o'clock curfew to be in the common rooms and all transitions between classes were to be chaperoned by a teacher and including trips to the bathroom (If in Potions, you just had to hold it). That same night, the Minister of Magic himself made the journey to Hogwarts and escorted the Gamekeeper to Azkaban for half-a-century old suspicions. Far from making the students feel well protected, these drastic measures made it appear that Hogwarts was falling apart at the seams. The bitterest blow to its stitching came Sunday, when the school woke to find its Headmaster suspended.

The school board decided (i.e. Lucius Malfoy blackmails all) that because he failed to stop the attacks, Dumbledore was unfit to be Headmaster and thus was forced to take a leave of absence. This troll logic rattled the castle in a way even Slytherin's monster could not. Though the Headmaster of Hogwarts was rarely seen roaming the halls, the fact he was no longer at the school guiding the terrorized community through impossible times created a heavy gloom of hopelessness that hung like dank fog over the frightened students and miserable staff. Well, most of them…

If there is a bright side to a horrific monster prowling the castle, attacking students two at a time that even Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore is unable to stop you can bet your joined-handed autograph Gilderoy Lockhart will find it. Somehow he got it into his delusional thicker-than-a-concussed-mountain-troll head that the danger of Chamber of Secrets had passed. He told the desolate second year in Defense Against the Dark Arts that Hagrid was surely the culprit and now that he was removed from the grounds Hogwarts was in the clear. Nobody believed this yarn for a second, especially not with their primary suspects in the same room.

"Says who?" barked Thomas, summing up the skeptic class's feelings.

"My dear young man," began Blockhead in a horrible patronizing voice that made Jezibell want dearly to wring his neck. She consoled herself in thinking to put dandelion seeds in his tea bag later - they'd do the job nicely and would be good karmic repayment for Valentine's day, "The Minister of Magic wouldn't have removed Hagrid if he hadn't been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty."

Want to bet? Many times people got thrown into Azkaban for doing almost nothing at all while others who were guilty wormed their way into escaping trial, scot-free. Welcome to the bureaucracy, leave your morals at the door.

"Oh yes he would!" said Weasley loudly, which made Jezibell turn sharply to look at him. He couldn't have known the all the circumstances of the arrest unless he had been there, it was classified ministry information. But something in his defiant voice and his openly honest Gryffindor expression of I'm-right-and-you-know-it convinced Jezibell that he knew exactly what went down. And that worried her. Which it shouldn't by all logic. Weasley had a father in the ministry, she had forgotten. He could easily have sent his son a letter explaining the trial or lack thereof Hagrid. Or maybe one of the other teachers had been present and told him and Potter about it because they knew the boys and the Gamekeeper were friendly. Still, it kept her up late that night, trying to get her head around an insignificant comment made by her foolish classmate. What was wrong with her?

A sudden _vroom _made her leap out of her midnight musings. She darted to the window were Emmy sat, now wide awake, and gazed out to the darkened grounds. It was impossible to see anything completely in the shadow-riddled night, but Jezibell could just make out a large, vaguely green shape moving heavily along the grass towards the abandon Gamekeeper's cabin. The sound that woke her seemed so foreign in the heart of the magical world that it took her second to put two and two together. It was a muggle vehicle - a car. Now she knew she was dreaming.

The door of the alleged 'car' opened and two figures stepped out. They were a little more than shadows solidified as they moved stealthily to Hagrid's Hut. Just before the door closed, the dim light from the open cabin door caught something shiny on one of the blurred figures. Something that, unless she was hallucinating which was a definite option appeared to be a pair of characteristically large rimmed and circular glasses.

* * *

_Gryffindor Common Room, May Twenty-ninth_

"_If Harry Potter can sneak out of a security buffed castle and drive a car around the grounds at two in the morning, he can break into the second floor bathroom."_

This was Emmy's theory and the snake-cat was sticking to it. Jezibell was still trying and failing to pacify her conscious with legs.

"_I still am not convinced that wasn't a dream. A _car _at Hogwarts? It's muggle tech would fail just being within a mile of the building." _

Unless… The Weasley car that crashed into the willow was never recovered. Most people didn't even know there was a car until the Howler struck the breakfast table. Potter and Weasley could have hid it someplace by the Forbidden Forest, or maybe in the Gamekeeper's hut. That had to be it. Potter was just taking his stolen technology for a joy ride and Jezibell caught him in the process of parking it.

Jezibell looked at the clock. Breakfast had to be over by now. She'd started skipping it two weeks ago when some diligent early risers started doing interesting things to her porridge spoons. This fasting was planned to last only a couple days until the perpetrators grew bored setting up unused booby traps, but they proved more persistent than anticipated. Emmy refused to go near the urchins while they were in such an awful mood, so Jezibell resigned her first meal of the day to an apple from lunch. One of the good things about the students having to be escorted everywhere was that lunch, at the very least, would remain reliable. She slung the book bag over her shoulder.

"_So you're just going to walk away?" _demanded Emmy, _"You do get that if Potter's lost the Diary it's floating around the school somewhere."_

"_We don't know what happened to the Diary. Could be that Snape or Filch finally clued in and confiscated it." _

"_What about the monster? You could go to Dumbledore and show him the sink any time, free of charge, you know."_ Emmy licked the air and locked eyes with Jezibell intently. After a moment, she opened her mouth in a toothy cat-grin. "_Oh. But it's not free of charge, is it? Not this late in the game. Going to Dumbledore now would be admitting you had the power to all year long."_

"_Well, that and it would also confirm to the staff that I am a parselmouth, which is really just rumors at this point. And Dumbledore would surely make a speech or something with at least a formal recognition for my discovery of the Chamber of Secrets. I don't want that kind of attention; I don't want any kind of attention."_

"_And it would imply you give toad's wart about the suffering of children."_

"_The victims are hardly suffering as stiffs in the Hosptial Wing, heck it seems like none too bad a deal. The only person suffering on account of the monster is I since the heir keeps framing me. But Potter gets taken down a notch too, and since I'm already at bottom rung that's not enough to make me care. I'm not a mudblood, and so there is no reason the heir of Slytherin business has ever been my concern. So what if Potter and his side-kick went for a midnight drive? It didn't have to do with anything. Not parseltongue, not the Chamber, not Myrtle's toilet, not me," _Jezibell crossed to the Fat Lady, "_Now, if you'd excuse me, I have to get back to reality."_

Reality, as it turned out, was watching the clock tick Professor Binnses classroom. Professor Binns, like Blockhead, was undaunted by the idea of four students, a ghost and a cat lying in the hospital wing waiting for the mandrakes to mature. Jezibell originally thought this was because Binns was already dead, but after the attack on Nearly Headless Nick she guessed it was simply indifference to the situation. So he was like her. The history of the goblin riots washed over her and she boarded the endless train of thought regarding the Heir of Slytherin, not trying to make a plan, but to make sense of it all.

But there were too many unknowns, to many things that should add up but didn't. Was Harry Potter the heir of Slytherin? He _was _a parselmouth, and something weird happened when the Dark Lord gave him the scar on his head, that was for sure. Maybe there was some second-hand dark magic was given to him along with the lightning bolt. It would explain the parseltongue. But why would he ever go near Myrtle's bathroom, if his discovery of the chamber was as accidental as hers? And then to harm his best friend, that made no sense. Friendship with Hermione-muggleborn-prodigy-Granger was the best thing he had working for him for not being the heir of Slytherin. But then again, the paralyzed Granger seemed to be better at putting suspicions off him than an active one. Just today the Hufflepuffs that harassed them both over the year tried to make amends. But Jezibell didn't think he was that good of a liar after his pitiful performance when facing expulsion. Professor McGonagall came to class to tell Binns that he and Weasley were excused so they could go see Granger in the hospital wing. The Assistant Head's voice was throaty and Jezibell thought she saw a tear in McGonagall's eye. No amount of lies could fool the sharp eyed Transfiguration teacher. Harry Potter truly was desolate over his friend's attack. Unless Weasley did all the talking in that case, but this is something that somehow seemed unlikely. So Potter didn't do it, probably. Not knowingly, at least. Was it possible for the monster to be controlling its master? And, more importantly, what was he doing with the Diary?

Something clicked right then. A piece of the puzzle that Jezibell was wrestling with suddenly snapped in place. Jezibell stood up abruptly in her sudden revelation, but Professor McGonagall's voice suddenly boomed over the loud speaker so the movement didn't look suspicious.

"All students return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please_."_

What had happened? Another attack? Had to be. Why else would McGonagall use the speaker? Unless the mandrakes were ready, but by her barely controlled urgency Jezibell didn't think so. The halls themselves seem to speak as they swarmed with panicked students sending the same message.

Attack. Attack. Another attack. Get to the common room. There's been an attack. Another Attack. Who is it? Are they dead? Get to the common room, another attack.

But for Jezibell, the common room was the last place she needed to go. She slipped through the crowd and stepped through one of the trick-walls she had discovered during winter break. She hadn't used it once even though it was an infallible escape route. It led directly to the corridor of the second floor bathroom.

The floor was wet as she walked down the deserted hallway, just as it had been the night of the Deathday party. She stopped at ten paces from the wall and read the second, fresher script written below the first in scarlet chicken blood.

_**Her Skeleton will lie in the Chamber Forever**_

The droplets from the wet blood ran down the wall and congealed on the damp floor in little splotches of dark red. Lying in one of the pools, resting haphazardly against each other in what was clearly a planted clue, where two things. A long lock of hair, so bright a shade of red it looked almost like an extension of the blood that shown with highlight, and a wand.

Jezibell stared at the hair and wand for a long time, even though it was perfectly clear what they meant. No other kids in the school, probably in the whole wizarding world, had hair like that. Weasley's little sister had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets by the monster itself. No footsteps came from the adjacent corridors and no voice from the loud-speaker asking students to return their commons rooms resounded, but Jezibell felt exposed standing in the middle of the hallway. She wasn't going back to the common room, to wait with the miserable Weasleys who would more than likely blame her for their sister's death, so she followed the leak of water to the bathroom nearby. Maybe if Myrtle was there she could finally get some real answers. The Diary, the voices, the chamber of secrets; it was all connected, she knew now. Emmy was right, it _was_ her business. She pocketed the wand and made for the bathroom.

Myrtle wasn't home. Maybe she went down the Hogwarts plumbing to moan and sulk herself to oblivion. Jezibell waited for her to return, sitting in one of the empty stalls, watching the once benevolent engraved sink across from her and listening to the steady _plink plink plink_ of the leaking toilet that was causing a small flood. She wished she had a clock or a window so she would be able to see time passing and know how long she had been camping out in the dismal gray lavatory. She didn't mind the monotony of her hiding place though. In a strange way, the bleak surroundings made her thinking clearer.

Weasley's sister was certainly dead by now. It was a few hours since her abduction and the monster was unlikely to restrain itself to petrifying when it was alone. The Diary was the answer; the key all along. Harry Potter was using the Diary (or being used by it) to open the chamber of secrets with parseltongue. Dobby's visit in November hadn't been his first. The Diary had been delivered to Jezibell within days of her being made Gryffindor, the reasoning being if she couldn't be a Slytherin she might be of use sacrificing herself to the greater cause of purging the school of muggleborns. It was expected she would be caught in the end, but since she was a Gryffindor anyways, that didn't matter. Harry Potter found it as Emmy suggested; picking it up because it said Diary on the cover. The Diary must have been conditioned before hand for Jezibell's specific use however, so the monster wouldn't attack her and the Diary still tried to make contact with her through dreams. Potter came here for months learning how to control the monster with the Diary's knowledge. Under the influence of it, his powers and fibbing abilities would have increased enough to fool even Dumbledore when he interrogated them. In a way, Jezibell felt very lucky. If her father had been just a few minutes late, or hadn't made the impression of his study well enough, she would have stolen he diary back when she had the chance and it would be her down in the bowels of the castle now, terrorizing for ancient meaningless prejudice.

Weasley and Granger probably weren't in on most of the gory details, but they would follow their fearless leader to the ends of the earth. It couldn't have been difficult for Potter to convince them to help with limited information. Granger was clever though. She could have started to figure out what Potter was doing, so he petrified her so she wouldn't stop him or turn Weasley against him too. Today he left class, under the pretense of visiting his friend in hospital wing, to make the attack on Weasley's sister, a perhaps as a manner of threat to Weasley, who dense as he is might have put it together by now. The girl had a well known crush on the Boy Who Lived, she was the obvious sender of the Valentine's Day card of Doom, and Jezibell could picture him luring her out from adult supervision for a friendly chat. She wouldn't be the first eleven year old tricked into trust. Maybe Weasley was down there as well.

It all made a sense, and Jezibell probably should have done the responsible thing and gone to straight to the headmaster instead of sitting vigil in this abandoned lavatory. But she couldn't. Because now it was personal. The Diary seemed behind every bane in her life; her dark preschool years, which led her parents shipping her off to Durmstrang, which led to the expulsion, which led to Hogwarts. It was intended for her, this heir of Slytherin mess was to be her destiny had Potter not gotten in the way. It had always been her business and now she couldn't_ not_ face it. Alone. Emmy said she was a Gryffindor at heart, and this is what Gryffindors do. Stupid things because of righteous anger. So she waited for Myrtle.

The ghost girl resurfaced several hours later (It could have minutes or days for all Jezibell knew; no clock) and she seemed to have gotten a nice traumatic cry done in her absence. Good, maybe she would be easier to deal with since her evening meltdown was taken care of. Her slouched form floated out of the overfilled toilet and it took her a second to realize she had company.

"Oh, it's _you_ again." Myrtle sulked, "Are you here to make fun me some more? I'm used to it now, you know only weeks ago someone sent me a valentine. I was so happy, it looked like they were actually being nice to me, but it was all stinky and had a nasty poem inside. _Roses are red, violets are blue. You're human waste and smell like a loo._"

She crossed her transparent arms with insolence and her lower lip stuck out in a pout.

"I didn't sit in this moldy stall half the day to hear your psychiatric report," Jezibell sniped. Acting nice to Myrtle never worked, so she decided to be blunt and hopefully side step Myrtle's self-pitying rants. "I just needed to ask you if you had seen anyone else, besides me, in this bathroom this year. A boy, my age, but shorter and with glasses; a girl with frizzy brown hair and another boy only a tall redhead. Ring a dead bell?"

"You are sooo inconsiderate!" Myrtle whined "I mean this is _my_ home, pitiful septic tank that it is. You can't just waltz in here and demand information! I may be dead, but I still have feelings!" She was winding herself up into a wail, but Myrtles words touched a long dormant nerve.

"No kidding, you have feelings. So does most of the planet. I have feelings too, but here's a handy tip. Nobody cares. About you, about me, about anybody but their goddam selves. Nobody has ever cared, nobody is ever caring and nobody ever will! I will never care. And I know you won't either; I'm not asking you to. I'm asking for you to information _now_ so I can give my bogeyman a name before I go kill him. So, tell me Myrtle, if you can recall a subject other than your eternally irrelevant depression, have you seen Harry Potter in this bathroom?"

Myrtle observed her through foggy spectacles, her face unusually emotionless. When she spoke it was in a flat but clear voice.

"Harry and his two friends have been coming here nearly every day since Nicholas's Deathday party. They were planning something, I don't know what exactly. The red haired boy told me to keep quiet to teachers and prefects if they asked which they didn't. They stopped coming after Christmas for a bit. Then Harry and the red haired boy came once several weeks ago. I haven't been out of the u-bend much since then, so they could have come some more while I wasn't here."

And that was all Jezibell had needed to know. She turned Myrtle's dead eyes still on her, to face the sink directly across from her cubicle. The choice she had been avoiding since the beginning of the year had to be made now. The last time she opened the Chamber, she used one of her choicest swear words to do so. Now she offered it a little more respect.

"_Get out of my way"_ she hissed. The Chamber of Secrets obeyed her command and Jezibell walked into the wide, yawning mouth of a tunnel. It swallowed her whole. Jezibell slid down the damp, dark tube. She couldn't see much in the limited light, but sometimes she felt passing holes in the pipe that appeared to lead off to other sections of the plumbing. She wondered vaguely if this was how the monster traveled around the castle, by way of pipes. It would make sense for how the voice came from inside the walls. She landed, a little clumsily, in a circular area of smooth stone with more tunnels leading off in various directions. Jezibell lit her wand for sight and began to make her way to the most likely of passages. It was the largest and directly across from the exit pipe, but that's not why Jezibell chose it. It seemed to emanate a faint dark aura exactly how the Chamber first appeared to her. Her instincts repelled it, like a cat's repel water, so it was where she was to go.

The floor was not as well swept deeper in the Chamber as it was just outside the tunnel. Jezibell's feet went _crunch, crunch _against the ancient skeletons of small unfortunate animals. There were fresher ones too, that squished rather than crunched, but she tried not to think about those.

A few hundred yards in and she had her first scare. An immense, heavy shape was coming into view in the feeble wand light. It was long and appeared to loop around the anti-chamber of sorts. Jezibell could barely breathe. Was this it? Had she found the monster already? It ignored her last time, but it would probably be a bit more concerned with her once she started hexing it.

She edged around the shape, trying to find the head. It was made of a thick, plated hide with scales, as a dragon's and probably just as hard. The color was a dark, poisonous green with a simple pattern of black diamonds along the back. The shape of it ended in a lump and she crept towards it, staying out of sight in case the head turned suddenly. Jezibell approached it with terrified caution, wincing as the dead rats crackled in sharp sound. She was a few feet from it now and the creature still hadn't moved a muscle. Jezibell knew that snakes could make themselves perfectly immobile when they wanted to, so she hesitated to turn the wandlight on it. The blurry shape that was presumed to be the head was at an odd, twisted angle. The body itself uneven as it lay like a loose coil of water-hose. Jezibell put her hand lightly on the tough skin. It crumpled, like paper under her touch leaving a small hole in the empty shell.

She almost laughed in hysterical relief. It wasn't the monster at all, just its shedded skin, and the brief test of courage granted her new information. Slytherin's monster was a snake. A giant petrifying poisonous century old serpent at the Heir's every command, but still, in essence, just a snake. She also knew its name from one of the dustier volumes in her father's private library: the Basilisk, king of serpents. It was a beast that lived for centuries and could kill at glance. The only puzzling thing was why the victims were only petrified; she supposed it was a magical handy cap of this particular basilisk. This knowledge filled her with strange surge of confidence. She had imagined some twisted, warped creature of fantasy that glided through walls as a phantom and could turn you to stone with its touch. The King of Serpents made much more sense. Basilisks, rare and unmanageable as they were, did crop up now and then over the centuries. The last one had been unleashed by Herpo the Foul and hadn't lasted anywhere near as long as this one. It was controllable with parseltongue and it could be defeated.

Several contorted turns and smaller anti-chambers later, Jezibell came to expanse of solid rock blocking her path. A pair of entwined serpents was carved vertically on the stone. The emeralds set into their eyes flickered animatedly in the wand-light, but unlike the snake in Myrtle's bathroom, they were anything but peaceful.

"_Open up."_

The snakes slid their interlocking bodies apart and as they did so the wall cracked smoothly open to form a wide archway. Jezibell held her wand high and stepped inside.

What she saw was a long open stretch of wet stone tiles that lead to a gigantic statue of (based on what Jezibell knew from her history books) Salazar Slytherin himself. The walkway was lined with large statues of opened mouthed serpents and Slytherin's likeness was so tall the crown of its head touched the cavern's ceiling. Jezibell had found the Chamber of Secrets without a doubt. She ran forward, not taking care to be wary of the basilisk, because at the colossus's feet lay a small red-haired figure.

Weasley's sister was unconscious, not petrified. Her frail body's crumpled posture was too loose to be frozen and her eyes were closed on her morbidly pale face. Jezibell quickly felt for a pulse on the inside of the girl's delicate wrist. It was there. She wasn't dead, but the beats were irregular and light. Jezibell supposed the first year had fainted from shock. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and the basilisk were nowhere in sight, but Jezibell had the strange feeling that someone's eyes were on the back of her neck the while she was tending to the girl. This was probably just the effect of Uncle 'Zar bearing down behind her.

A loud noise that sounded horribly like a cave-in rang from one of the anti-chambers. There was a shout of panic that was lost in the rumbling, then it stopped, another shout and then silence. Jezibell rose unsteadily from Weasley's sister's side to stare at the archway out. Her wand hand shook somewhat in front of her, but she was prepared to defend against whoever was coming. Hurrying footsteps pattered from the darkness and Harry Potter burst into cavernous room, brandishing his own wand as if expecting an attack.

"Expelliarmus," said Jezibell, relieving him of his weapon before he could use it against her. The wand flew high over Jezibell's head into the darkness behind them. Potter paused, stunned at the immediate assault to take in the scene of the Chamber, before his eyes fell on Jezibell standing over Weasley's sister.

"You _are_ the Heir of Slytherin!" He cried, "I knew it!"

Jezibell stood shocked. His triumphant words were exactly what she was planning to say.

"Where's the basilisk?" He demanded, undaunted by the fact his only weapon was gone, "What have you done to Ginny?"

"I haven't done anything besides check her pulse," Jezibell regained her composure. This couldn't be a clever ruse, Potter looked too terrified and determined to be faking it and he clearly just got here. So, if _he _wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, then who - ?

"That's a lie!" Potter yelled, even though he was only a yards away from her now, "You're the other parselmouth at Hogwarts; it has to be you who's been doing it! Durmstrang taught you how to use parseltongue with the Dark Arts to control snakes, but you took it too far and got expelled. Now you discovered the basilisk and Chamber of Secrets and thought you'd try the same thing here!"

He spat the theory at her as he walked haltingly to where she stood, working with anger to mask his fear. He was afraid of her. Of course he was. He had barged into the chamber to find her standing over an apparently lifeless girl and drew the obvious conclusion before having his wand dispelled from him, proving the mistaken identity. Jezibell slipped her wand back in its pocket to show that she wasn't about to curse him. Not yet.

"Ginny found out though. Somehow she knew what you were doing and she tried to tell us. But you told her to keep her mouth shut and when she almost told us the truth at breakfast, you took her down here so the snake could have her. I bet you're the one who stole the Diary too and -"

"Stop!" Jezibell shouted. "Stop-stop-stop" echoed around the cavern, effectively making Potter shut up, "I am not the Heir of Slytherin, not any more than you are. Ginny is still alive, but she won't be for much longer. You need to get her to the hospital wing. I don't know where the basilisk is, but we are practically in its bedroom. So if you can stop persecuting me, we can get out of here before it comes to finish her and us off."

"I'm afraid," said a voice from behind them, "That you won't be able to do that."

Jezibell spun around on the slick floor. Standing in the shadow of the great statue was a dark haired boy of about sixteen or so. He was dressed in the Hogwarts uniform and Jezibell could see a Slytherin's prefect badge proudly displayed on his chest. His face was pale and sallow, but not in an unattractive way and his brown eyes roved her and Potter casually, as though he were completely at ease here in the bowels of Hogwarts School. He twiddled Potter's dispelled wand in his long fingers idly. Jezibell wondered how she overlooked his standing there when she first came in.

"Tom!" said Potter in recognition, "Tom Riddle? What are you doing down here?"

Jezibell refocused her confounded gaze onto Potter. He was speaking to this strange personage as if they were old friends and he was surprised to see him in the particular setting. Tom Riddle... it rang a bell. But then, she didn't pretend to know all the school prefects by name.

"That," said Riddle, answering Potter's question, "Will become clear in due course."

"Potter," asked Jezibell, trying to a grip on what in the name of Nimue was going on, "Why are_ you_ friends with a Slytherin Prefect?"

"I'm not...sure. It's hard to explain. I- Tom?" He addressed Riddle now, looking nearly as confused as Jezibell felt. "Are you a-a ghost?"

It seemed a strange question at first, but then Jezibell looked closer at Tom Riddle. His form appeared solid enough, but it shimmered, blurring at the edges when he moved. There was something very unnatural about his being here.

"A memory, preserved in a diary for fifty years." He gestured, nonchalantly to the small red-bound book on the floor beside him and Jezibell felt her stomach churn with acid at the sight.

"Avada Kedavra!" She cursed at it. Nothing happened. Riddle had not the humanity for his eyes to twinkle with condescending amusement, but the plinking of water down the cracks in the silence was a sufficient substitute.

"What was that supposed to do?" Potter asked her accusingly. Jezibell stared at him; not wanting to state the obvious in case he was baiting her with the insane irony that the Boy Who Lived didn't know what the killing curse was.

"I'm afraid your guest is getting ahead of herself," said Riddle, like he didn't just have an attempt on his life.

"I didn't _bring_ her here," Potter said defensively, "This is the Chamber of Secrets and she's the new heir of Slytherin. Or, I was fairly certain she is."

Riddle raised his eyebrows, "Miss Jezibell Malfoy has enviable ancestry and is a self-taught parselmouth which is admirable, but as she has already assured you she is no more and heir of Slytherin than yourself. And, as once again the girl in question so perfectly demonstrated, she has not the will to produce even a puff of Dark Magic. Completely powerless and relatively unremarkable in present company, it is a testament to your unshakable bias that she led you along as long as she did. Let me reassure that she is no threat. But even so, I don't want any more interruptions."

He dispelled Weasley's sister's wand from Jezibell casually and caught it midair. That easy gesture of mastery made her wanted to curse the book to a thousand wicked bits right then with Elladora's wand, which she had kept in her pocket. But her failed casting of the killing curse had made her uneasy that anything would work on that book. The boy himself was out of the question as she was eighty five percent sure that this prefect was being fully possessed by the memory that lived in the Diary. That would make him too powerful to duel.

"Ok, great," Harry blew aside Riddle's monologue, "But Tom, I don't think you heard me. We're in the _Chamber of Secrets. _There's a basilisk, I don't where it is, but it could be along any moment. You've got to help me –"

"We're not getting help from _him_, he's it." Jezibell interrupted and addressed Riddle, "You're the heir of Slytherin. Or the memory that got inside you is. That Diary, Riddle, did you pick it up because you thought it was funny? Because it said Diary on the front?"

"What?" Potter exclaimed. "Tom tried to _stop _the person who opened it fifty years ago! He got it wrong, Hagrid's innocent, but Tom wasn't the Heir..."

"Fifty years ago, how does that...?" She trailed off uncertainly as it dawned she was missing something very important about Riddle.

"It seems that in your separate endeavors, your two parties went sadly misinformed to the goings on at Hogwarts this year." said Riddle, a light smile of amusement played on his thin lips. "But maybe I can clear things up. This whole story starts, as Jezibell has kindly identified, with my Diary. This is the first bit of confusion to clear up because, Jezibell, it is in fact _mine. _It was always mine long before you, your father or Ginny Weasley. I did not chance upon it; I _made_ it with the memories of my youth stored away inside."

"You told me that," said Potter, "But what about Ginny. How did she get like this?"

"That is quite a long story –"

"Should I pull up a chair?" asked Jezibell, who currently had not the patience for more of Riddle's monologues. Riddle regarding her coldly and despite herself she shut up. Right, no more interruptions. He resumed.

"I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger. Using my journal as her own, she has been writing to me all year in this book, telling me all her pitiful wishes and woes. How her brother's tease her; how she came to school with her second hand robes and books and of course," Riddle looked directly at Harry for this, "how the great Harry Potter would never like her..."

Potter's pickled-toad eyes winced at the last bit.

"It was very boring, as you know," he continued, "To listen to the trivial prattles of those lesser than you, but I was patient. I began to write back. And as Ginny Weasley poured her heart, her _soul _into my diary, I began to pour a little of my own self back into her..."

"You possessed her," Jezibell reiterated.

"Yes," said Riddle, in mild approval, "Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets and set the Serpent of Slytherin on the mudbloods and the squib's cat. Ginny, who strangled the Gamekeeper's roosters and spread the threatening messages on the walls with their blood."

"No." Disbelief colored Potter's voice.

"Yes," said Riddle, "She didn't actually know what she doing at first of course. I am very good with possessing. But after, oh, a few months, it was very amusing to listen to her new diary entries. 'Dear Tom,'" Riddle began to quote in a panicked falsetto, "'I think I'm losing my memory; there are rooster feathers on my robes and I don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can't remember what I was doing the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I look pale, I think he suspects me –'"

"Enough!"

Jezibell yelled to cut him off from this tangent. Not for her sake, it was actually very interesting to hear the plight of Ginny Weasley put into perspective, but the look of pure torture on Potter's face made her speak up. Riddle was playing with his food and Jezibell wanted out of the game.

"I was also kept up to date on the latest gossip through Ginny." Riddle now refocused his attention to Jezibell, trying his luck at tormenting her. "I heard of the Great Harry Potter and his every day antics with his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. I also read of a curious new development in the school of Hogwarts. A new student, who had been expelled by foreigners for dark magic unknown and spoke in the serpent's tongue to her cat. Who came from the purest pedigree of Slytherin blood and yet was placed in exactly the wrong House for her talents. Whom everybody took as the scapegoat for Slytherin's heir," Riddle's eyes glimmered in their haze knowingly and she couldn't help it.

"What talents - you don't know anything about me." She asked, keeping her voice neutral.

"On the contrary, I know everything about you. I know how you and your brother used to play in the small nook in the plaster, behind the stairwell, before he got his first broom. I know how you performed your first magic, healing the wing of a small bird Draco had hit while flying, and then receiving your mismatched familiar as a reward. I heard it when you first began to speak in parseltongue."

All these things were uncannily true, to be sure, but Jezibell took a strange comfort in them. Riddle hadn't mentioned Durmstrang except in passing. If he was really out to cause as much pain as possible, that's where he would go to find it. Her morale was safe.

"Once you became literate in the language of serpents, I tried to help you discover my Diary. I hoped that when you came to Hogwarts, I might be able to operate through you and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work. I sent dreams to you at night and little nudges of false intuition during the day. I thought natural curiosity would win when you were eight, you almost made it to the office where I was being kept. But then your father caught you and forced you from the study. He made sure you were too traumatized to return and he placed much greater enchantments on my case so I couldn't communicate with dreams anymore..." Riddle grimaced ruefully, "But I managed to find a suitable host in the end."

"To return to our tragic story, it took some time, but eventually stupid little Ginny began to lose faith in her Diary. She tried to dispose of it, throwing it down a toilet. And that was where _you _come in, Harry," He pointed to him, as though trying to help connect the dots, "You found it and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have come across it, with the possible exception of Jezibell, you were the one I was most anxious to meet."

"Why did you want to meet me?" asked Harry. His previous familiarity to Riddle seemed to have evaporated to be replaced by anger and contempt. It was now his turn to have his past dissected by Riddle.

"Ginny filled me in on all of your fascinating history, and I knew I had to find out more. To meet with you and talk to you, if I could. I decided to show my famous capture of the oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust."

"Hagrid's my _friend_," Harry snarled, "You framed him! And I had thought you made a mistake!"

Riddle just laughed. It was an unnerving thing, cold as frostbite and weirdly high pitched. Like his voice hadn't cracked yet, though should have by the look of him.

"For the lady who doesn't know the tale," He nodded at Jezibell, "It was a precautionary move on my part, to use Hagrid as my scapegoat, fifty years ago. Even I was surprised at how well it worked out, it would have been clear to anyone who had done their homework that Hagrid had no Slytherin relations and didn't have the brains besides. Or the power. Then again I have always been able to charm my way out of sticky situations. Think of how it looked to old Armando Dippet, headmaster at the time. On the one hand, you have big bumbling Hagrid, in trouble every week and raising monster spawn under his bed, sneaking off to the dark forest to wrestle with trolls... On the other, you have Tom Riddle. Poor, but brilliant. Parentless, yet so _brave_. School prefect, a model student...Only Dumbledore, transfiguration teacher not headmaster then, ever had the slightest suspicions in my disfavor. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid at Hogwarts as a Gamekeeper. Yes, he may have guessed. If only guessed..."

"I bet he saw right through you." growled Harry. Jezibell wondered if she should try magicking the Diary - but no, it wouldn't work. All the protection spells her father had placed on it, any useful hex would probably end up backfiring onto her and Harry.

"He kept an annoyingly close watch on me after that," Riddle continued. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to reopen the Chamber while I was at school, so I left behind a Diary. The key to the Chamber of Secrets, preserving my sixteen year old self so one day I might lead another my footsteps and purge the school of those unworthy."

"Well, it looks like you failed," said Harry bluntly, "No one has died this time, and fifty years ago you only managed to kill one person. The mandrake potion is nearly done and soon all the people you got petrified will be back to normal."

"Haven't I told you," said Riddle, his tone less calm and more dangerous now, "Ever since Ginny informed me of your past, my new target had been _you."_

Harry and Jezibell glanced at each other, sharing shocked surprise and morbid curiosity.

"The both of you, actually," clarified Riddle now turning to Jezibell, "Just Harry at first, but then I started to hear you making plans with your hybrid in parseltongue. I knew you knew were the Chamber was and how to activate it. You could have exposed me at any time, I appreciate that you didn't, but there were other complications your presence caused. Whenever I tried to set the Basilisk on Harry, you always turned up and forced it into retreat. I very nearly had you both in December. It was a dark corridor, Harry was just coming around the bend and I had already silenced both the mudblood and the ghost. And then there you were, against the wall, right between where Harry was approaching and the Basilisk. It was your stellar heritage that saved you. The basilisk is well trained not to touch purebloods, and in its moment of indecision you almost saw it for what it was."

"Well, when Harry picked up the Diary from the bathroom, I thought that if I could get him to trust me as Ginny had I may have been able to lure him to the Chamber of Secrets. Unfortunately those plans never came into effect -"

"Because Ginny stole it back. That's who the Weasley in your dormitory was," She spoke to Harry, "I had thought you took it to Quidditch practice."

"_Ginny _ransacked my bedroom?" Harry was taken aback, "But how did _you_ know about that?"

"Riddle sent Ginny a dream SOS because you stopped talking to him. I know because I got it too. He's dead lucky she got to the Diary first; I would have sent that thing to the bottom of the lake." Jezibell explained bitterly.

"You went into_ my dormitory_?" Harry inferred looking more than a little violated.

"And then Riddle started possessing Ginny again," Jezibell ignored him, "He attacked Granger so you would be determined to find the Chamber of Secrets even without his help -"

"But when Ginny almost betrayed him at breakfast, Riddle decided it was too risky to keep using her -"

"So he made her write her own death sentence and then led her down here so you and I would come looking-"

"You see," said Riddle, his tone almost congratulatory, "It is all connected. You two, Ginny Weasley and I. If you had only joined forces earlier in the year, instead of directing suspicions at each other, you may have had a chance at stopping me. But it is too late for that now." He smiled wide and lipless as an adder might at a mouse. Mice. "In any case it is my turn to ask the questions."

"What would you want to know about us?" said Harry angrily, "You seem to know all about Jezibell from 'living' in her house and Ginny told you my past already."

"Yes," agreed Riddle, "But she couldn't tell me everything. For instance, she couldn't tell me how it is that _you_, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical power, managed to defeat the greatest Dark Wizard of all time? How could you not once, but twice escape with nothing but a small scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

Riddle wore an almost hungry expression now, and his dark brown eyes caught the light in the strangest way. They almost seemed to gleam red.

"What does it matter to you," asserted Harry, "Voldemort was decades after your time -"

"Wait," Jezibell cut him off. Harry's words had made her realize what they were missing. "You've been talking to us as who you were fifty years ago. Who are you now?"

"Yes!" Riddle was in triumph, "Finally you have found the right question."

He raised Harry's wand, and Jezibell thought he was going to curse them, but instead he turned around and wrote three flaming words in the air.

_**Tom Marvolo Riddle**_

He flourished the wand and then stepped aside so Jezibell and Harry could watch as the letters began to swirl and rearrange themselves.

_**I am Lord Voldemort**_

Anagrams, really?

"You see," hissed Riddle, "It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to intimidate friends only, of course. I wasn't about to keep my filthy Muggle Father's name forever. I, whose vein run with the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side. I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew one day wizards everywhere would fear to speak when I became the greatest sorcerer in the history of the world!"

"You're not." Harry spoke quietly, but there was a lot of highly concentrated hatred in those two words.

"What?" snapped Riddle, sounding like a two year old being denied ice cream.

"Not the greatest sorcerer of all time!" Harry's volume was rising, "Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong you didn't dare try and take Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw right through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now. Wherever you're hiding these days."

"Dumbledore's been driven from this castle by the mere memory of me." sneered Riddle.

"He's not gone as you think!"

Jezibell truly admired his faith and determined loyalty in the face of imminent doom, but she didn't see how Harry's blind trust in Dumbledore could possibly help them here. Then she heard the music.

It was coming from the far end of the cavern, at first a melodic whisper. It grew steadily louder and the melody became clearer, a high warbling cry of hope. A faintly glowing shape was soaring towards them in the darkness, the eerie tune harmonizing with the echoes vibrating around the domed room into a fierce wave of sound. The phoenix flew with the gentle grace of firelight and it looped around the group once before dropping a shapeless mass of cloth in Harry's hands and it landed, surprisingly light, on Jezibell's shoulder. It stopped singing and the song reverberated once more through the room and died.

Riddle looked incredulously at the visitor, "That's a phoenix..."

"No, that's a fox," Jezibell found sarcasm a very good way to keep her head on.

"Fawkes," whispered Harry who was stoking the magnificent bird on Jezibell's right shoulder, recognizing the bird Dumbledore introduced them to when he interrogated them in his office. But that one was a newly born chick… Maybe desperate hope gives phoenixes a growth spurt.

"And that," Riddle eyed the brown material in Harry's hands, "Is the old school Sorting Hat."

Jezibell looked to Harry for an explanation, like he had the answer for everything. _Did you-?_ She mouthed and he shrugged, just as in awe with their unexpected rescuer. A phoenix and a hat. Well, it was better than nothing.

Riddle through back his head and started to laugh. It echoed wildly around the chamber as the phoenix song had, but the two sounds couldn't be more different. While the phoenix song filled you with warmth and hope, Riddle's hilarity seemed to strip it.

"This is what Dumbledore sends his defenders?"(Is it, now? If Dumbledore can get his bird down here, why doesn't _he_ come to the rescue?) "A song bird and an old hat! Do you feel brave? Do you feel safe?"

No, Jezibell did not feel remotely sheltered or assured. Neither of Dumbledore's parting gifts would be able to do anything against an armed Riddle once he summoned the basilisk. Phoenix or no, they would be sitting ducks under its petrifying gaze. She expected Harry to be thinking similar thoughts of despair, but he had an oddly confident look to him. Looking at his set jaw and dark eyebrows narrowed in determination to try in spite of impossible odds, it almost made Jezibell believe they could pull through. Ha-ha. Almost.

"To business then, Harry" said Riddle brusquely, "Twice, your past, my future we have met. Twice I failed to kill you. _How_ did you survive? Tell me everything!"

Harry stood lock-jaw, clearly not in the mood for expending the secrets of his survival to his archnemisis. Jezibell watched as Riddle's out-line, which had been wavering and fading, was growing clearer and strong. He was feeding off Weasley's sister's soul the longer they stood. The time he spent monologing was just him wasting their time before he had enough substance to attack. Riddle wasn't going to budge until he got his precious information and if they died in here over it, it wouldn't matter anyway. Jezibell made eye contact with Harry, trying to convey a just-get-it-over-with message.

"Fine," he began curtly, "No one knows why you couldn't kill me, I don't even understand it myself. But I know what saved me. It was my mother, my common _muggleborn_ mother. She died to save me; she stopped you from killing me."

This bit was new to Jezibell. She had never heard of a person being protected from the killing curse just by - in a nutshell - _motherly love. _It sounded like a ludicrous fancy, the something out of a fairy story. But Harry Potter gave no other reason for being alive today. He wasn't done either.

"Do you want to know who you really are now, Riddle? Who you were last year, 1992, not fifty years ago? Because I've seen you - the real you. You're a wreck. You're barely alive. You're weak, you're hiding, and you're ugly and foul -"

"Enough!" commanded Riddle, his face handsome features were contorted in scowl, "Yes, your mother died to save you. It's a powerful counter curse, I understand now...there is nothing special about you. I did wonder, you see about you, about us. There are many strange likenesses between. Both orphans, both raised by muggles, and we three are likely the only parselmouths to come out of Hogwarts since Salazar Slytherin himself. It seems almost destiny our paths should converge here where the legacy began.

"I'd call it bad timing," Jezibell said and the phoenix rolled its sharp toes on her shoulder. It was a bit painful, but comforting in its way.

Riddle's pale shimmering face puckered with the intensity of his distaste, "But I suppose none of that matters when I kill you now.

He smiled, but it was so twisted that it wasn't any better than the ugly sneer, "This is school, after all, and I believe it's time I taught you both a little history lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin and his basilisk against the Famous Harry Potter and his rebellious friend aided by the best weapons Dumbledore can give them."

Leaving Jezibell and Harry behind him, Riddle turned to the great stone likeness and called out in parseltongue.

"_Speak to me Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!"_


	6. Daring Nerve and Chivalry

Daring Nerve and Chivalry

_Chamber of Secrets, Night_

There was a grinding noise from above and Jezibell saw (though it was hard to tell as the statue was so far up) that the mouth on the stone face was moving. Open. And something was going to come out. For once, Harry did the practical thing: he ran. No second thoughts of 'Gee, maybe I should try to beat this gigantic snake with my bare hands'. Just run. Jezibell was right behind him. Unfortunately, the Chamber of Secrets was not that big around, and they soon reached the back wall were they found themselves trapped.

"Protego," muttered Jezibell and drew Elladora's wand through the air behind them to make the magical shield. It was hardly worth it against a basilisk, but no harm in trying.

"Didn't Riddle take your wand," Harry asked as behind them something huge hit the stone floor with a **SMACK. **They didn't dare turn around and be subject to the basilisk's laser eyes, so they looked at each other.

"That was Ginny's."

"Is Ginny's," He corrected disapprovingly, "You stole it from her."

"Not important. Giant laser eyed snake about to kill us, remember. Got any ideas?"

Harry clutched the Sorting Hat like a lifeline,"I think Fawkes does."

The phoenix had taken flight when Jezibell started sprinting. It left her shoulders with a small squeeze and was now, by the racket in Jezibell's peripheral vision, engaging the basilisk.

"_NO!" _screeched Riddle, not sounding remotely like the charming schoolboy, "_Leave the bird, kill the boy and girl! Kill THEM! LEAVE THE BIRD!" _There was a lot furious hissing and scraping noises, like the snake was thrashing around and Jezibell risked a quick glance at the Battle of the Basilisk and the Phoenix. It wasn't something you'd see every day. The long, sinuous shape of the basilisk was winding itself into knots, coiling and uncoiling, thrusting its head up every few seconds, trying to get a stab at the tiny ember that was Fawkes whizzing about its head like a particularly flammable mosquito. It was all so surreal, Jezibell couldn't do more than stare. She had no clue as to how Fawkes was staying motile, but at the moment she decided to let the laws of magic slide. At some interval between snaps, the phoenix darted down and pushed its golden beak into the basilisk's right eye. There was a shriek of incoherent pain from the snake. It writhed in agony and in its pain it didn't even notice when Fawkes took out the left pupil too.

"_Leave the BIRD! THEY ARE RIGHT BEHIND YOU! SMELL THEM! KILL THEM!_

The basilisk turned drunkenly, its face a bloody mess with dark liquid flowing freely from punctured eyes, whipping its body around as it tried to maintain balance. The tail came out of nowhere, catching Jezibell in the chest. She flew back on the momentum and hit the wall behind hard with a sharp cracking noise. Her cheek scraped against the rough stone and she nearly blacked out from the force of the hit. Her head pounded and she lay crumpled on the floor, feeling her cut sting.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt? I thought I heard a snap!" Harry Potter was at her side, frantic.

"That shield charm was useless," Jezibell twisted upright the best she could, her head feeling as if a troll used it for clubbing practice, and felt tenderly along the side that had made contact with the wall. Harry's hand appeared on her shoulder, steadying her.

"I'm fine," She flinched away, her head throbbing as she shifted to her knees. There seemed to be no real damage to her body, accept – ah, there _was _something. "Aunt Elladora's wand isn't."

She felt between the wall and her side and pulled out the splintered remains of her second-hand wand. Harry's expression slid smoothly from concern to horror.

"How do we possibly beat it if we've got no wands?"

That was an excellent question. The basilisk was scraping across the floor, closing in on the sound of their voices, and it was about a hundred feet from where they were huddled. They hadn't a prayer of defense. At that desperate moment the phoenix, which was still hovering above the scene unable to do anymore damage, let out a single piercing cry. The note hung in the air to the point where it was almost tangible. It shimmered and the sound seemed to go inside Jezibell, filling her with a warm strength and dispelling the dizziness. If she had to give it a name, she would have called it courage.

No longer did the approaching basilisk appear as a threat. It was being controlled by Riddle, a pathetic imprint of person who according to Harry wasn't even totally alive. He was less than a ghost, he was a memory. And he wasn't the only one with the power of parseltongue either, not even the person here with the purest pedigree. Jezibell felt very much alive as she stood to face the oncoming snake, leaning across Harry to get him out of the way.

"What are you doing? Do you _want_ to be eaten?"

Jezibell didn't answer him. She planted her feet and held out her arm, trying to call forth the same commanding force Harry used at the Dueling Club. The snake reared, preparing to strike.

"_STOP! Get BACK! Back UP! GET AWAY!"_

The basilisk stopped mid-snap, confused. It twisted its head around to face Riddle.

"_Are you sure?" _It asked.

"_KILL HER! KILL THEM! I AM YOUR MASTER! DO AS I SAY -"_

_"GET BACK! GET AWAY! STAY AWAY FROM US -"_

The demands bounced off the Chamber walls distracting the basilisk further. It shook its head in bewilderment and Riddle let out an inhuman shriek of fury. He was playing for total control over the basilisk, but not Jezibell. As long as she kept it confused, buying Harry time to get out there, she had won. Normally Riddle's Slytherin heritage would override anything another parselmouth would say, but the basilisk was trained to respond to purebloods and Riddle had said himself he was half-blood. Jezibell's bloodline trumped Riddle's, so it was coming down to test of will.

"_KILL HER! KILL THEM!"_

The basilisk tensed back, still unsure. It coiled, indecisively teetering on the edge of striking.

"_KILL HER NOW!"_

On '_NOW_' the snake lunged.

"_STOP! NO _- !" Jezibell threw up her hands, fell back and closed her eyes against the oncoming mouth. Harry pushed roughly past her and there was a hideous squelchy sound followed by a cry of agony. Jezibell looked up through her defensive arms to see him standing over her, covered in blood, with his right arm thrust into the basilisk's dying mouth. The snake roared in pain and wrenched back, pulling off the long glittery... sword (what?) that had been embedded in its upper jaw. Writhing madly as it died, Slytherin's Monster let out one last spluttering hiss before falling into a lifeless mass upon the blood swum floor.

Harry collapsed. The bejeweled sword clanged to the floor and he clutched his right arm. Jezibell caught him across her pietas-esquely. She transferred his shaking body to the stone and saw something that made her stomach turn over. A wicked white rapier, about a foot in length, was gouged deep in Harry's arm. Jezibell quickly jerked it out before he could protest. It resisted slightly on his skin in the most sickening way, and the wound left behind was a horrid grisly one.

"Thanks," He choked out. His breath was coming in shallow pants that racked his slight body as the poison made its way through his veins. Basilisk venom is one of the most potent substances in the Wizarding World. Deadly as it is rare, the venom is so toxic it can corrode all but the toughest of metals and it penetrates the human immune system in less than a minute. Harry had roughly thirty seconds to live. Riddle had gotten his glory after all.

As if just thinking about him tickled a funny bone, Riddle started to laugh maniacally from the end of the chamber. The unnaturally high pitched sound filled Jezibell with such a loathing she could not fully identify.

"Your hero is dead, Jezibell. There is no hope possible left for you. You know all about such poisons as basilisk venom - there is no cure that can save him now and certainly none you could find in a dungeon. Even Dumbledore's bird understands the total failure of your situation. It's crying, don't you see?"

For Fawkes had flown the length of the cavern and landed lightly beside Harry and, just as Riddle pointed out, had pearly tears streaking maroon on the scarlet plumage. It dipped its wet head gently to the side of Harry's gored arm, letting a few tears slide off its glossy cheek. As soon the liquid made contact with Harry's ruined skin, the wound began to miraculously dissolve. Color returned to his pasty face and Jezibell could almost see the venom being extracted from his system.

Riddle was still gloating. He hadn't realized Harry was making the trip back from death's door. But he would soon. All would take was two words and flick from the stolen wand to kill them both. Fawkes looked up at her with beetle bright eyes and nudged something on the ground with its talon. The Diary. He must of grabbed it when Riddle was having his temper tantrum. How was she to kill it with all of the thickly layered magical protections? Jezibell's eyes fell on the lethal looking tooth clutched in her hand that was still oozing black basilisk venom.

"No..." Riddle had noticed the clean patch of skin on Harry's arm where there was a fatal injury not ten seconds ago. "The phoenix tears...healing powers...I forgot." He scowled, "But it makes no difference when I kill you now."

"You already said that," slurred Harry semiconsciously, but loud enough to be heard clearly.  
Riddle did a double take.

"Did I?" He murmured thinking back for a second. And that was the second Jezibell needed. She held up the Diary and plunged, praying to her guardian angel (who was still on probation) to take pity on her and make this work, the basilisk fang into the deteriorating cover.

Riddle froze when the tooth struck the Diary. His body began to writhe and flail like his snake had, and his form was ripping itself apart in showers of light. Venom seeped out the sides of the book and burned her hands, but she only drove the fang deeper. Riddle screamed in one loud, drawn out, anguished cry, before his figure shattered and dissolved into air. Harry's and Ginny's wands fell to where Riddle's feet had been moments ago. Jezibell dropped the sizzling book and tooth fell out with a clatter, leaving a hole. She pressed her damaged fingers to Harry's recovered arm, hoping to catch some magic phoenix tear residue. It helped a bit, though that may have been his cold skin.

"He's gone."

Harry had come to. He straightened his glasses and looked from Fawkes, to the place Riddle vanished, to Jezibell who quickly buried her hands in her robes, and the smoking book beside her. Figuring he could stand on his own now, Jezibell slid back from his private pool of blood and started ringing out her soaked garments. The venom had seared patches of thinned cloth on the sleeves and the combination of ink, blood and dampness of the floor saturated the robes making them heavy on her lower body.

"Look," He stood up awkwardly, rubbing his healed arm, "I'm...sorry about this year. I mean, we really thought it was you doing all the attacks. It just all fit that way."

Jezibell proceeded to wiping the cut on her cheek. It crossed the bridge of her nose and hurt with grit smeared on her face from the fall. Trying to clean it only made it sting worse though.

"I didn't help it to fit any other," She said, abandoning the cut and relieving Harry, "That wasn't fair of me."

Jezibell remembered her apathetic conclusions in Myrtle's bathroom. She entered the chamber expecting the climax to their year as inferred rivals, and instead found a person willing to step in the path of an oncoming Basilisk for someone they hardly knew, hated even. Of course, Harry had a sword in hand and was saving himself just as much as her, but it was the thought that counted. Riddle said there was nothing special to Harry Potter. Jezibell begged to differ.

"So... friends?" Harry held out his hand to her, a tentative gesture of peace. Just like Neville on the train. She also remembered Riddle chiding them for not joining forces sooner, that they would have had a chance to defeat him before any of this started if they had just figured out they were on the same side. Maybe this time, it could work. She took it.

"Friends."

Ginny woke up a few moments later. The second she understood where she was and who was with her, she started sobbing unashamedly.

"It was all my fault, Harry...I tried to tell at breakfast...but then P-Percy...and th-hen T-Tom took me down here with the diary, and-" her eyes grew wide when she saw the dead basilisk, "How did you kill that thing? Where's Tom? I-"

"It's ok," Harry filled in for her older brother, "Riddle's gone, don't worry. And I had some help with the basilisk." Jezibell glanced up as she recovered the wands. She tossed Harry's back to him and he caught it in air, like the brilliant seeker he was.

"Oh," said Ginny as Jezibell presented her with her own, "That's mine. Tom made me put it under the words with some of my hair. Oh! Oh Harry, everybody must think I'm dead! They'll be so angry!"

"That you're alive? You'll be grounded for ages, definitely," Jezibell rolled her eyes as Ginny buried her face in Harry's robes. Harry gave Jezibell a look. Not the same look as in Dumbledore's office, but a look none the less. She sighed and put forth genuine effort be maternal. "Let's get you to the hospital wing. We can explain everything to Professor McGonagall there."

At the name of the deputy head, Ginny Weasley began those heart-wrenching wails again. She leaned against Harry's arm and he half-carried her out of the Chamber, sword in hand. Jezibell took the ruined Diary (now safe to touch) with the basilisk fang and Fawkes followed them out with the Sorting Hat. She still didn't understand what use it had been.

"I'm going to be expelled! I've been looking forward to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and now I'm gonna have to leave! What will Mum and Dad say?"

Jezibell tried talking to Harry under Ginny's cries of self-pity, "Will she be expelled?"

If this were Durmstrang, yes, but Jezibell was learning Hogwarts worked a little differently from the foreign school.

"I think I we explain _everything, _and explain it right, we should be fine."

Jezibell didn't like the way he said 'everything'. Then again, she guessed he knew she would try and gloss over the parts about how the Diary was her father's and how she almost controlled the basilisk herself. She grimaced. Blatant honesty wasn't something Jezibell Malfoy was accustomed to.

"So, where's Weasley? He was excused from class, same as you. Didn't he come down here?"

"Yeah, but we had a bit of a cave in," Harry explained.

"_That's_ what the rumbling was. I could hear it in the Chamber, it sounded like the whole place was imploding."

He nodded, "That would be it. The rocks fell between us in the cave and Ron was stuck on the other side."

"Is Weas - Ron alright?"

"He's fine, but we didn't want to wait to clear a passage for him because Ginny had already been in the Chamber awhile and we couldn't risk anymore time. So, I went ahead to find her. Ron should be still back there making a hole for us to get through. There is something else too. Er, you'll see when we get there."

Jezibell would like to have asked him exactly what he meant by 'something else', but Ginny piped up.

"Ron's here?"

"Yeah, Ginny," said Harry in a pacifying voice, "Don't worry, he's waiting for us. Just a little farther."

A little farther was a huge cascade of fallen rocks. Some of the shapes were sharp and triangular, stalactites turned into skewers. Jezibell felt very lucky that the cave in hadn't happened when she passed through. Off to the side of the pile was a small tunnel in progress where someone was slowly shifting one of the larger boulders aside.

"Ron!" called Harry, running over to the hole, "Ginny's ok! We've got her here!"

Ron gave shout of jubilant relief and when they approached the edge of the pile, they could see his freckled face through the impressive gap he had managed in the stone.

"Ginny!" he yelled, and Ginny rushed forward to her brother and grabbed his arm so he could pull her through, "You're alive! I can't believe it! Harry what happened? How - what's _she _doing here?"

Ron spotted Jezibell and he looked uneasily from her to Harry.

"Ron, we were wrong," said Harry stepping forward, "Jezibell was never the Heir of Slytherin. She saved my life and Ginny's –"

"The lifesaving was mutual." interjected Jezibell. She was watching Ron carefully. This was just as much of a test as killing the basilisk. Ron Weasley accepting her as a friend. Whatever he did now would determine pass or fail for a friendship with Harry.

"Alright, if you say so," he muttered to Harry, but Jezibell knew she wasn't in the clear yet, "Where'd the bird come from?"

Fawkes landed beside them and started preening his gilded feathers.

"He's Dumbledore's," Harry was assisted through the hole as well, but Ron didn't extend the helpful hand to Jezibell so she clambered through on her own.

"There's a lot to explain," she said, once on the other side, "We'd prefer not to do it twice. If you can wait until we get out of here, we can answer your questions and the professors' at the same time."

Ron ogled the long weapon in Harry's hand, "Yeah that would nice."

"Where's Lockhart?" said Harry.

"You brought _Blockhead_ down here?" marveled Jezibell, "Why, as bait for the basilisk?"

"He's back there," Ron jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Come and see if you dare."

He led them back up the tunnel towards the pipe, Fawkes lighting the way. When they reached the edge of it, they could see Gilderoy Lockhart sitting in his patented robes on the musty floor. He looked up at them with a start, before smiling pleasantly at Harry and Jezibell's blood soaked robes and Ginny's puffy red from crying face.

"Hello there!" he called, "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it?"

"His memory is gone," said Ron grimly, "The memory charm that backfired, it hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, where he is or how he got here. I told him to just sit and wait. He does what you tell him, but he's a danger to himself.

"So now he's 'Nohead'," muttered Jezibell.

Nohead turned to her and asked with complete sincerity, "Do you live here?"

"All my life," she solemnly swore. Ron snickered and she looked back at him and Harry, "How do we get out?"

Both shrugged, but then the phoenix swooped in front of Harry and hovered at the mounting standard for a broomstick.

"I think he wants you to grab on," Ron was perplexed at the bird's size, "but you're much too heavy for a bird to carry -"

Harry smiled weakly, "Fawkes isn't an ordinary bird."

Understatement of the year.

"We'll need to hold on to each other, here." He motioned to Ron and Ginny, "Ginny take Ron's hand and Professor Lockhart -,"

"He means you," barked Ron at the befuddled Lockhart, which Jezibell felt was a shame. She was all for convincing him his name was Nohead.

"- Can hold onto Ginny's. And Jezibell?" He looked at her, tucking the sword into his belt as he did, "You take mine and Ron's."

There was a rather sticky moment where Jezibell held out her hand to Ron Weasley. He hesitated, pale eyes moving quickly from the hand to her face, before taking firmly in his own. Both of their palms were sweaty and grimy from the adventure, so they gripped at the wrist instead for a more definite hold. Harry needed both hands to hold on to Fawkes, so Jezibell improvised by taking a handful of his robes. Once they were all linked, Harry grabbed the fiery tail of Fawkes the phoenix. A weird buoyant feeling spread through Jezibell when Harry's hands touched the bird and the place where she was gripping his robes and Ron's wrist heated up, like they were being welded together in the awkward chain.

Fawkes was in the air with a single beat of his majestic wings, and then they were soaring up the tube and out the Chamber of Secrets. Jezibell looked down and she could make out the shape of Nohead swaying dangerously near the sides of the pipe.

"This is _FANTASTIC!_" He cried, a kid on a merry-go-round, "It's just like magic!"

"Wait until he meets the rest of the world," murmured Jezibell and Ron let out a shout of laughter despite himself.

Fawkes touched down easily in Myrtle's Bathroom, depositing the party on her wet floor. Jezibell would be thankful when they entered a room that _wasn't_ experiencing issues with the plumbing. The enchanted sink slid innocently back into place and Harry let go of Fawkes's tail, removing the warm feeling from their handholds. Ron dropped his quickly and wiped it on his robes. Jezibell didn't feel insulted. He just wanted to get the grime off. She let go of Harry's robes as the Ghost of the Evil Girls' Bathroom floated out of the right cubicle.

"You're alive" she stated in a dead voice.

"There's no need to sound so disappointed," Harry was trying to scrub grunge off his glasses with an equally gritty sleeve.

"Oh, I had thought - you know if you had died - you would be welcome to share my toilet."

It was desperately hard work for them to keep a straight face as they left the bathroom.

"Harry, I think Myrtle's _fond_ of you!" Ron chortled, surrendering once out of Myrtle's earshot, "You've got competition, Ginny!"

Fawkes led the way down the corridor to McGonagall's office and Ron put his arm protectively around his sister. His eyes never left her, as though he was afraid she might disappear back into the Chamber of Secrets. Jezibell could only admire his dedication to his family.

"I actually think you would look rather good together," said Nohead spontaneously

Professor McGonagall's office was already hosting a small gathering when they arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were being told the news of their daughter's assumed death by a tearful McGonagall and Dumbledore, who evidently returned from suspension to comfort the Weasleys, was there as well. When the quintet pushed open the door, there was a sudden hush as everyone took in their ragged appearance. Then Harry, Ron and Ginny were attacked by a hysterical Mrs. Weasley. She hugged, cried and kissed them senseless in her relief. Jezibell hung back with Nohead, averting her eyes while Harry Ron and Ginny were smothered with motherly love. Only Professor Dumbledore paid her attention, peering over his half-moon spectacles from where he was standing near the fireplace.

"While we are waiting for Mrs. Weasley to satisfy that her son and daughter is truly alive and well, would you mind telling us how it is Ginny was rescued?"

"It's quite a long story," She borrowed Riddle's introduction, "And I don't think it should start with me."

Jezibell was trying not to lie about her father's involvement with the Diary and keep her family safe at the same time. It was best to pass the talking stick to Harry, just this once. He managed to pry himself from Mrs. Weasley without the use of a crowbar and picked up where she had trailed off.

"It started way back in the year, when I started hearing the voice from the walls." Harry spoke for some time. Most of what he explained Jezibell already knew or guessed, but there were new bits too. Like how Harry and Ron had gone into the Forbidden Forest to meet an acromantalid who then told them the Gamekeeper was innocent and then tried to eat them, at which point they were saved by the timely arrival of the Weasley Ford Anglia which had gone savage in the forest. It sounded like a lot of trouble for information that obvious, but who was she to criticize? Hermione Granger knew all about what the basilisk was and how it was getting around the school, but when she was petrified the knowledge stayed secret until Harry and Ron found a note in her frozen hand. That was when they had decided to find the Chamber of Secrets themselves.

Jezibell had her own confessions as well. She told about how she too had been following a disembodied voice that always seemed to lead to the scene of attack. She told how the basilisk passed her by in the hallway (though of course, she had no idea what it was then) and she told about her discovery of the Chamber early in the year, admitting that though she suspected for long the cause to the attacks and wasn't troubled to inform any authority. She told how she waited in Myrtle's bathroom for the ghost to confirm that Harry had been making trips there. So far, they danced around the subject of the Diary. Harry made it sound in his explanation as though he had just found the book lying on the floor and Jezibell still hadn't motioned her connections to it beyond a vague hunch.

When they came to part about going into the Chamber of Secrets, they tried to make it brief. They said that they had been suspecting each other for a while when they decided to rescue Ginny.

"When we got there, we found that neither of us was the Heir of Slytherin, and the Riddle came out of the Diary-"

"Wait," interrupted Mr. Weasley, "how did the Dairy get into the Chamber of Secrets? I thought Harry had it."

"We told you, it got stolen before I could ask it about Myrtle," Harry continued, "So, Riddle came out of the Diary and then he -"

"He set the basilisk on us," Jezibell interrupted, "He was using Ginny to open the Chamber, but now that he had a body he could control it himself."

There a silence with their audience and Jezibell immediately recognized her mistake. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were horror stricken at the news that their daughter had been behind the attacks. Ron looked at Harry a little desperately, as if hoping what he said wasn't true. McGonagall's mouth thinned. Ginny, sandwiched between her mother and brother, buried her face into Mr. Weasley's robes and continued to sob her eyes out.

"He made her love him," Jezibell heard herself say. "She probably found the Diary wherever and opened it because it said Diary on the front. Once she figured out how to use it no wonder it took her half the year to distrust it - a pocket friend who gave her undivided attention. Riddle was very good when he wanted to be; he convinced Harry the killer was _Hagrid_."

"Jezibell, I think we can all agree Ginny had no conscious part in the attacks," said Dumbledore from his corner, "What intrigues me the most is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny when my sources tell me he is currently hiding in Albania."

And that was enough to let Ginny off the hook. Harry explained the rest of how Riddle had been brainwashing Ginny and Jezibell showed them the ruined Diary. The Weasleys were still bewildered at the news, but they comforted Ginny - hugged her tight so she wouldn't worry about Riddle anymore and reassured her she wouldn't be expelled for being the victim. In short, they behaved all that a family should. Dumbledore instructed them to take Ginny to the hospital wing for some hot cocoa and so she could see the people she petrified waking up. The Weasleys left, except for Ron who remained behind with Harry. Dumbledore told Professor McGonagall to go alert the kitchens for a short-notice feast, but Jezibell thought he really wanted to talk to Harry, her and Ron privately. Once the room was all but empty, Dumbledore turned to the three with a grave look on his face.

"I seem to remember telling all of you that you were on your last chance for breaking school rules."

The boys stared at him, their mouths agape, but Jezibell simply hung her head. Well, it wasn't as if this was entirely unexpected. Karkaroff kicked her out for not knowing when to keep her mouth shut; now Dumbledore was going to for staying silent. They wouldn't even need to snap her wand this time...

But the Headmasters face suddenly broke into a benign smile, "Which goes to show even the best of us will eat our own words." he continued, grinning like he had just gotten them with a good joke, "You will all receive Special Awards for Services to the School and one hundred points apiece for Gryffindor."

Now Jezibell was the codfish.

"Someone has been rather quiet about his part in this whole adventure. Why so modest, Professor Lockhart?"

They all turned to look at Nohead who had been standing off to the side humming tunelessly. Jezibell had forgotten he was still there. When Dumbledore said his name he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see someone else there.

"He tried a memory charm and it backfired." said Ron.

"Remind me," asked Jezibell, recovering from her moment of shock, "Why was he using a _memory _charm?"

Ron smirked a little, avoiding Nohead's curious eyes, "He's a complete fraud. All those things he says he's done in the books are really things other wizards did. The only spell he can do properly is a memory charm and he's been stealing these other people's glory and erasing their memories so they couldn't tell.

"Oh dear," chuckled Dumbledore, "impaled by your own sword, Gilderoy?"

"Sword?" said Nohead, finally understanding that they were talking about him, "haven't got a sword. Ask the boy, he'll lend you one."

"Ron, would you take Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary as well? I would like a few more words with Harry and Jezibell."

Ron ushered Nohead out of the room and Dumbledore turned to the two remaining.

"First, I will start by thanking you, Harry. You must have shown true loyalty to me in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to your aid."

Harry smiled sheepishly and stroked the phoenix that was perched beside him. Jezibell recalled her own skepticism in the Chamber. She felt both ashamed at herself for lack of trust and angry that she was ashamed. It made no sense to have faith in Dumbledore's goodwill when you're about to eaten by a giant snake. But then again, Harry claimed he survived the killing curse solely because of his mother's love.

"I know you've had doubts about yourself this year. So, I suggest you to take a closer look this sword." Dumbledore handed Harry back the ruby encrusted weapon and indicated the base of the blade. Through the drying blood and dungeon filth, Jezibell could make out a name. _Godric Gryffindor_. Harry read it too and looked up at Dumbledore in wonder. "Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled _that_ out of the hat." said the warlock, satisfied.

The hat? Oh, of course. Harry got Gryffindor's sword from the founder's Sorting Hat. It was rather fitting, seeing how they were fighting the oppression of muggleborns and the weapon they use comes to the rescue like the stereotypical muggle magic trick. Albus Dumbledore possessed a very subtle sense of humor. In any case, the knowledge of the original bearer of the sword seemed to take a great load off Harry's mind. Jezibell couldn't imagine why this had so much meaning to him, but she realized it wasn't really her business to know.

"Next, I must apologize to you, Jezibell." continued Dumbledore, "I understand you haven't had an easy time either. But I hope you will remember the values of friendship and honesty in the face of twisted figures like Lord Voldemort. For it is only with such imperishable allies that we can prevail."

Jezibell looked at Harry, at her side now and when they were fighting Riddle. She thought of Ron, who wasn't quite a friend yet, but getting there. She thought of Emmy, her loyal familiar throughout a year of bitterness.

"I'm starting to learn that, Professor."

BANG. The office door flew open and bounced off the wall. Her father, looking angrier than she had ever seen him, stood in the doorway. Jezibell dropped her eyes to the floor reflexively and backed away from the desk so he could speak with the Headmaster. That was what he was here for, right? Not to expel her, they agreed she wasn't going to be expelled. Even so, her gut twisted horribly as it had when she pulled the fang from Harry's arm. Jezibell's hair hung in front of her bowed head creating a dark partition between the scene and her.

He walked smartly past her, and stopped a few feet before Dumbledore. Jezibell only dared look as high as his shoes. They were black, tailor-made with a silver lining. He owned about a dozen of these pairs, in varying degrees of class for different occasions. These where his newest, his best for when he wanted to be intimidating. They were also half polished. Dobby was flitting around his ankles trying to finish the job. The elf always took his line of duty much too seriously. Jezibell tried to focus on the shoes so she wouldn't have to hear his voice. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option.

"So," He began in clipped tones, "You decided to come back. The Governors suspended you but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

He spoke casually but with a dangerous undercurrent.

"Well, you see, Lucius." Dumbledore's voice sounded perfectly at ease facing Father's fury. He proceeded to tell him all about how the board of governors wrote to him as soon as they heard of Ginny's abduction. Jezibell could picture the muscle twitch on her father's cheek when Dumbledore informed him that the governors confessed to his blackmailing and threats by owl.

A thin whimper made Jezibell look up. Dobby was staring at her determinedly trying to get her attention. When she glanced at him, he started looking pointedly from her father, to the Diary and then to her, beseeching. He was asking for permission. Jezibell looked him straight in the eye and gave the slightest nod. The elf's froggy eyes brimmed over with happiness. He turned to face Harry and began pointing frantically at the Diary and then her father. Jezibell gazed at the complicated embroidery on the carpet, wishing the leonine designs could swallow her up. Red and gold quicksand.

"A clever plan," said Dumbledore, he was talking about the Diary now, "Because if Harry and his friends hadn't discovered this book, why, Ginny Weasley may have taken all the blame. No one would have been able to prove she hadn't acted of her own free will."

Jezibell's head snapped up sharply. The Headmaster's words were not difficult to read between the lines and as Jezibell looked from her pale, furiously foiled father and his smiling, reprimanding adversary, she knew exactly how Ginny Weasley had gotten hold of the Diary.

It was an excellent business move, killing a flock of birds with one stone. Father had probably wanted to get rid of the obviously dark object for a long time, after seeing the effect it had on Jezibell, but fear of his old master had kept him from destroying it. He decided to plant it on Arthur Weasley's daughter, in hopes she would fall prey to whatever curse was inside. Weasley had recently tried a Muggle Protection Act, which was surprisingly popular with Wizengamot. Her father was losing hope that he would be able to bribe them out of agreeing to it. During the brawl in Diagon Alley, he must have managed to slip the Diary into one of Ginny's school books. She would think one of her parents had bought it for her. Bring down a rival, keep his daughter sane, wash his hands clean of a suspicious object and stop the Muggle Protection Act all at once. Pity it hadn't worked.

Her father's upper lip curled in a sneer, but his eyes remained cold and narrowed understanding how much Dumbledore had inferred and what could be guessed. Losing the staring contest with the aged warlock, he turned to look at his elf, and caught him in the act of fervently pointing from him to the Diary.

"Dobby!"

The elf let out a squeak of fright and hastily shoved his hands into his pillowcase with false innocence.

"We're leaving."

He made to sweep dramatically from the room, but stopped in front of Jezibell before reaching the door. Jezibell hurriedly looked down and felt his disdainful glare burning the top of her head. There was nothing she could do, she was busy watching her courage sink through the floor. He made a quick motion to her left and she felt sharp smack across her cheek. The cut reopened and stung with vengeance.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore's voice rumbled, for first time sounding angry, "I will not permit you to abuse my students. Kindly _take your leave_."

"A little discipline when needed never hurts, Headmaster. Lest the child forgets what it is." He paused for a moment before continuing his brisk stride out. His right hand swung at his side, and Jezibell could see her blood across the palm and figure tips. Dobby was squealing like a piglet at the impending punishment that was his when they reached Malfoy Manor. Jezibell let out the breath she realized she was holding.

"Professor," said Harry suddenly, "Can I go give the Diary _back _to Mr. Malfoy?"

He must have noticed Dobby's performance, reasoned Jezibell. She kept her head tilted even as Dumbledore handed the Diary over a deep shame welling inside of her. All the strength she found when facing the basilisk vanished the moment her father had walked in the room. Why could she be brave when fighting magically enhanced monsters, when facing the Dark Lord himself, but tremble before her own family? And now Harry was going to face her father for her. It wasn't right.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jezibell saw Harry bend down halfway out the door. He was undoing his shoelace so he could remove his sock. Maybe she _could_ be brave against her father. Brave in her own way.

"Wait."

Harry turned around, apprehensive. Jezibell took off her own shoe and removed the left piece of footwear. The sock was a generic black, blood soaked grimy and had ink from the Diary splattered all over. There was no way her father would recognize it. She held it out to her comrade, "It only works when it's one of the family."

A wide, mischievous grin spread across Harry Potter's face. He grabbed the sock and continued the rest of the way out Professor McGonagall's study, stuffing the Diary inside the filthy material as he went. Jezibell looked back to the Headmaster, who was smiling in satisfaction.

"Why are you so smug?"

"Oh, I always take a measure of pride when I witness a person so willing to bridge his own fiercely dug chasm." replied Dumbledore cheerfully, "It gives me hope for this generation."

"As long as something does," She stared at the basilisk fang she'd given for him to examine during the explanation. "Professor, may I keep the tooth?"

"You mean the one you used to destroy Voldemort's Diary with and may hold invaluable magical evidence as to how such a manifestation occurred?"

She looked at him steadily and nodded, not about to be fooled twice.

"Of course, I see no reason to the contrary." The headmaster smiled at her invitingly and Jezibell took her spoil of war off his desk. She hesitated a minute longer before venturing outside.

Her father was gone and so was what remained of Diary. A good sign in any context. Dobby remained however, which meant the plan must have worked. He hugged the well-traveled sock like a stuffed bear and as Jezibell approached she heard the falsetto squeaks of a jubilant elf.

"Harry Potter freed Dobby with Mistress Jezzie's sock! Dobby is forever in debt to Harry Potter's greatness and Mistress Jezzie's nobility –"

"You're not to call me that anymore," both Harry and Dobby looked around to see her. Harry was still smiling. "Now that you're free, I'm not your mistress."

"Yes, but as Dobby is free, he may call Mistress Jezzie whatever he likes," He caught Jezibell's eye added, " Though of course, Dobby does understand the feelings on the matter and will refrain from doing so."

"I take it I can't call you 'Jezzie' either," smirked Harry.

"Sure thing, _great noble _and _wise_ Harry Potter."

That shut him up, but not Dobby.

"Oh, yes! What may I ever do for his nobleness and wiseness in return for such a selfless action?"

"Dobby," Harry put a hand on the elf's shoulder. Jezibell shuddered to think what boogers he was picking up by doing so, "Just one thing. Never try to save my life again."

The ex-house elf smiled goofily before he vanished into thin air and Jezibell felt like she was missing the joke.

"Save your life," she repeated. Had Father really been angry enough to try?

"Oh yeah," Harry ruefully rubbed his arm, but not the same spot as where the basilisk fang gored it. "Dobby's been 'helping' me out all year to keep me safe. Blocking the barrier at 9 ¾, smashing my arm into bits so I would be sent home. I know you didn't have anything to do with that now but -"

"That may be partially my fault after all."

"How's that?"

"Remember those pictures of me practicing Creevey got? Dobby showed up that morning and asked to put away the bludger crate. I even told him you would be playing Seeker."

Still thinking back, Jezibell wondered again why he had been there at all. If Ginny had gotten the Diary at Flourish and Blotts, then what _was_ the point of him being there? Was it really just a checkup on her well-being? Or not being possessed by the Dark Lord's old Diary that Jezibell almost fell prey to once before. This thought knocked her for a loop in a way it shouldn't have. Of course Father would have heard the rumors on who was behind the attacks and wanted to see for himself. It didn't mean he cared.

"Sorry about that." She muttered still lost in thought.

"It's ok. Growing the bones back wasn't nearly as bad as taking the Polyjuice potion." Harry stopped himself then, his casual attitude replaced abruptly with the unmistakable air of _Whoops!_

"That slipped out," noted Jezibell.

Harry was quiet for a moment and Jezibell figured whatever the Polyjuice business was, it wasn't hers. She started to the stairs. Time to catch up with Ron and get to that feast planned in their honor.

"The Polyjuice potion," Harry was matching her stride, "Don't you want to hear what that firecracker in Potions was all about?"

* * *

_Hermione Granger_

A sharp, tangy bitter smell tickled her nose. It burned, like horseradish if you're foolish enough to stick your nose in the jar. A tingly feeling was beginning to spread, starting at her face then fizzing its way through her arms and legs with a warm buzzing in her chest. It felt like that time she had sat on her foot during a study period and then got up three hours later to find it asleep, except now it was her whole body. The harsh odor was all around her now and the horseradish in her throat was choking her. So Hermione coughed.

"Oh my, it looks like she's awake now too!"

Hermione opened her eyes, blinked a few times as they were surprisingly dry, and stared at her own bewildered reflection in a hand mirror. Then she remembered. She had solved it. All of it. In Magical Monsters of Past and Present, page 235 - The Basilisk, King of Serpents- and it was going through pipes, controlled by Jezibell Malfoy, the other parselmouth at Hogwarts besides Harry. Harry! She needed to find him and Ron at once!

Her hand fell to her side preparing to put the hand-mirror back in her bag and when it thumped down against a pillow. She was lying down? This sudden realization was most disorienting, her head spun as her inner ear tried to figure out which way was up. Hermione then recalled why she had the mirror at hand in the first place.

She was, or had been rather, hurrying back from the Library - to the Great Hall, had to tell Harry and Ron - when she had run into a tall Ravenclaw Prefect. She needed to tell somebody, it was urgent for the school to know what it was up against and this older student had seemed as good as anyone. The girl had been dismissive of her explanation at first, but Hermione had taken out her hand-mirror to demonstrate her theory that students were being petrified through reflections. Both she and the Ravenclaw girl had looked into the small pane of glass and a pair of neon-yellow eyes peered back. Her next thought was the horseradish up her nose.

Hermione sat up abruptly, finding that her legs and back were propped up in fluffy white pillows and she was lying on a bed. She was in the hospital wing. Oh no, _she_ must have been petrified! Her face showed the shock and horror for Madame Pomfrey came bustling over to her ward.

"Now don't worry, dear. You should be perfectly alright, just let me check to see all your joints are working properly."

Usually the matron's placating voice soothed Hermione, but now it was frustratingly to be told not to worry when there was a basilisk loose at Hogwarts.

"But Madame Pomfrey, it's the Chamber of Secrets- I know what's in it! Professor Dumbledore, I need to see Dumbledore! It's in the pipes and Harry and Ron found where, and I-"

"Yes, yes, your friends are right little heroes. The monster is gone now and Dumbledore is back. They're having a feast in the Great hall to celebrate right now. When I finish checking, you can go join them."

Hermione understood it was useless to protest. She waited as patiently as she could while the school nurse felt about her knees, ankles and wrists, gently bending them to be sure of their mobility. Hermione wondered how Harry and Ron solved the mystery without her telling them. Had they somehow found the book in the library on their own? Madame Pomfrey turned over her left hand, stretching the fingers and flexing the joints. Wait - what happened to the page? She tore the bit of information out of the old book as there was no time to check out (normally she would never think of defacing a library book, but the end justified the means in this case). Had it fallen from her hand when she was petrified?

"All right, now dear, I'm finished. Your appendages seem to be in proper order. Would you like to wait for the others to wake up or go ahead?"

Hermione bounced on the balls of her feet, such was her impatience, "May I go down now, please?"

"Very well, you may go -"

But Hermione was already out the door, running. So Harry and Ron had beaten the Basilisk. She didn't try to imagine how they did it, she wanted them to tell her firsthand. And then there was Jezibell Malfoy, of course she was behind it all along. The girl took out her anger at Durmstrang's expulsion on the muggleborns she was raised to hate. They all knew she was a parselmouth, all knew she hated Hogwarts and all knew she was nasty enough to do it. There was the potential, the motive and means. All Harry, Ron and Hermione were missing was the evidence. Well now they had it. Harry and Ron caught her in the act and she was expelled again. This time for good. Hermione only wished she could have been there.

She rounded the corner to the Great Hall, and could hear the noise of celebration coming from the oak doors of two hundred happily chattering students. Hermione pressed both of the doors open at once and stepped in. She gazed around the merry house tables, ignoring the golden light and wonderful smell of a Hogwarts feast, searching. And there they were! Ron was the first to spot her on the stairs and his freckly face split into a smile.

"Hermione!" he cried, and Harry's shorter black head whipped around so fast his glasses nearly fell off.

"You solved it! You solved it!" She screamed, all dignity forgotten, simply bursting with pride.

The rows of students seemed to fly by as Hermione sprinted to the Gryffindor table. They hugged her tightly in turn (Hermione found the boys enthusiasm a little odd - it felt to her that no time passed at all). She was beaming so bright when Ron let her go, there was nothing that could ruin her happiness.

"How did you do it, how did you figure it out?" she asked breathlessly. Then she noticed the second dark head beside Harry.

Jezibell Malfoy was feeding pieces of roast turkey to her cat, watching the trio's reunion calmly. Hermione just stared at her, not comprehending the Malfoy Girl's continued presence at Hogwarts. Harry saw her blank expression and hastened to explain.

"Hermione, we made a mistake. Jezibell is-"

But a hush was coming over the hall as Professor Dumbledore rose to make a speech. Harry stopped short his explanation and several students motioned for Hermione to sit down and stop being so rude. Hermione plopped down in the space Ron and Harry had cleared for her, not understanding why Miss Malfoy was 'Jezibell' now.

"Students and staff at Hogwarts," the Headmaster's voice rang throughout the great hall, "It is with great pleasure that I announce to you that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been closed and the monster within is dead. Now, I understand the nature of rumors and falsehoods in this castle. So I believe it would be wise to clear up the whos, the hows and the whys before you are left to your own devices."

Good, thought Hermione, now he would tell them the reason Malfoy was still here. She was willing to bet this was another one of Dumbledore's second chances despite overwhelming evidence of guilt. It wouldn't be the first time, once when he made his famous defeat of Gillert Grindlewald he -

"The Heir of Slytherin is and was Lord Voldemort."

You-Know-Who? But Harry defeated him last year. How could he be back?

"When Voldemort attended school here, he discovered the Chamber of Secrets and succeeded in killing one student – Miss Myrtle Botts, a Ravenclaw third year. Unlike poor Miss Botts, every victim was gifted with luck beyond measure as they were merely paralyzed and thanks to our brilliant Matron and Herbology Professor are now rejoining us in the waking world." Dumbledore paused for the standing ovation that greeted Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout, "He left a dairy behind, preserving the key to the Chamber inside in hopes he might lead another to finish his work. As it happened a student, Miss Ginny Weasley, found it and was possessed by it to reopen the Chamber of Secrets and wield the monster within. This monster was a basilisk, which was in essence a very large snake with the power to kill by eye contact and paralyze if the eye contact is made indirectly. I say 'was' because this beast is now dead and the diary has been destroyed. Their slayers deserve another hearty congratulation. I have awarded six hundred points to Gryffindor for the valiant efforts combined of Misters Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley –"

Hermione turned to give a congratulatory grin to her best friends who had exploited You-Know-Who for the second time and -

"- and Miss Jezibell Malfoy. Without their good intuition and timely action it is doubtful we would have known the true cause of the attacks until it was too late for the school and Miss Ginny Weasley."

Wait, the _combined _efforts of Harry, Ron and _Jezibell Malfoy_? Did she miss something? Oh, right. She glanced at Harry and Ron who were half smiling in a now-do-you-get-it sort of way. Jezibell Malfoy's head was still bowed to deliberately shield from curious eyes. That cat, however, was fidgeting with the piece of meat its mistress had given it. Pawing it around and sniffing every so often as though it wasn't sure if the exquisitely prepared Hogwarts turkey was good enough to eat.

"Fortunately, these courageous pupils did find the secret of the chamber and now those petrified are being brought back to consciousness; there is no harm done. Let us put aside the differences and barriers we have created this dark year and celebrate the triumph of camaraderie!" Dumbledore then raised his hands in the including grace of a speaker, "To add to the festive mood and preserve the sanity of the hospitalized individuals, I have decided that as a school treat all exams are to be cancelled."

This last statement was met with tumultuous applause from the students. Harry and Ron slapped a high five in their glee. Hermione was in shock. Not because they were missing exams, though she was a little peeved that the Headmaster would leave such a gaping hole in their educational records, but it revealed how long she had been out. If exams had been about to start on June 1st, and the last date she remembered was May 8, how many days was that? She started mentally calculating when a brief tap on the shoulder interrupted her. It was Jezibell Malfoy.

"We aren't going to be instant friends," She raised her head completely and looked Hermione full in the face for the first time. With her eyes somewhat out of the shade, their heavy lids appeared less cold and menacing and more just tired. She had a nasty cut crossing the cheek and bridge of her nose that was smeared heavily, but didn't seem too bothered by it, "But can we try for 'not mortal enemies'?"

Hermione looked at the girl who Harry and Ron somehow decided to trust despite a year of being assumed adversaries. Hermione recalled that she herself had not been 'instant friends' with Harry and Ron and that it took a mountain troll to bring the trio together. Jezibell Malfoy, whatever appearances gave, seemed to have proved herself worthy of friendship in a similar fashion.

"Alright then," she conceded, "Not mortal enemies."

Jezibell almost smiled, "Good. That's as much as I can take right now."

Hermione almost smiled in return. She went back to counting the days between May 8th and June.

"You're really good," Jezibell added brokenly.

"What?" Hermione asked startled.

"At the dueling club. You would have won if I hadn't cheated."

Hermione shook her head. If Jezibell Malfoy could swallow her pride, then so could she. "You didn't cheat, you improvised."

Really, it all depended how you looked at it.

* * *

_Hogwarts Express, June Nineteenth_

But it was so surreal. Despite her best efforts, instant friends were exactly what Jezibell got - whether she could handle it or not. Over the remaining weeks of term, she had joined Harry, Ron and Hermione in the leisure of no exams. They visited the lake and saw the giant squid, laughed at jokes the Weasley twins told, teased Hermione for being anxious over the lack of testing, endured snide comments from Draco and listened patiently to Harry's forced retelling of the Chamber of Secrets battle to a revived Colin Creevey. Actually, the first year initially aimed the camera lens at her, but Harry had the chivalry to take the burden of the press. So incredibly surreal.

But even with these overnight relationships there were some things that hadn't changed. Like the way Patil and Brown shot her looks in the corridors, how some of the teachers still acted oddly around her as if they could tell she was destined for bad news, and of course the loud raspberries anonymous students bribed Peeves into blowing whenever Emmy tried to take a nap. And there was Emmy herself, of course. She hadn't changed an inch. In some ways it was a relief to be going back to Malfoy Manor and a plain of reality Jezibell knew how to deal with.

Official Teenagerdom had come a few days after the Chamber of Secrets, on June fifth. Birthday boy Draco received his usual bucket load of sweets with an elaborate Shout Out for the entire school to hear Mother's tidings. Jezibell thought the latter might have been to spite her (she received nothing but cat food for Emmy which went straight to the Gamekeeper's omnivorous boarhound) but for the strangest reason not even the usual sarcasm entered her thoughts at the time. Maybe it was because on the Gryffindor side of the hall Harry and Ron were explaining the finer points of their shapeshifting excavation of the Slytherin common room. That hadn't been mentioned to the teachers. They were obscenely stupid about it, to be sure. No clue of what lies to tell or what prompts to use to get information within the time limit, but they managed to get in and out without detection so Jezibell gave them credit. She was becoming better at doing that.

That same night on her birthday while washing up for bed, she had checked herself in the mirror. It was first time she'd really looked at herself in over a year and could see the change. Her hair was longer, grown out of the neat bob it was clipped in for Durmstrang to fall shaggily around her shoulders. Her face was leaner, eyelids sunk deeper from sleepless nights and her nose and cheekbones were sharper than remembered. Her front had developed some and she recognized with discontent that she would have to start wearing the appropriate undergarments next year. She was taller and thinner; her whole body looked as though a giant took her between thumb and index figure and pulled skin like dough, as though she had been stretched. In many ways, Jezibell supposed this was true.

But now the school year was done and the four were sitting on the Hogwarts Express, compartment sixteen. It had been a few hours since the Castle had dipped behind the Forbidden Forest and out of sight. The lunch trolley already came by, Jezibell and Harry split the difference and paid for several helpings of sweets for the quartet, most of which were gone by now. Ron and Hermione were having a heated dispute over whether Muggle Studies was a worthwhile option or not and Jezibell looked up over the novel she was reading to receive an amused glance from Harry.

"Are they always this way?" She asked in undertone, indicating Beatrice and Benedict who were now debating the correct interpretation for the shape of a cloud passing over. The initial honeymoon after Hermione was cured was over and to one moment of silence, never.

"Pretty much, yeah," said Harry offhandedly. Emmy happened to be dozing in the seat next to his and he reached down to casually scratch her head.

"_A little to the left." _

Harry blinked, and then adjusted his hand accordingly. He shifted his gaze to Jezibell. His expression was so gobsmacked that she couldn't help it. She threw back her head and burst out laughing. Harry stared bewildered a moment longer before he cracked up too. Even Ron and Hermione stopped their bickering to join in and soon they were all clutching their sides, rocking back and forth in hilarity. It was sometime before they gained enough control to stop because when it seemed it was about to die down, Hermione would start giggling which set them off again. Eventually they started to run out of breath and, eyes streaming, Ron managed to ask. "So, what's funny?"

"Her cat _can _talk," said Harry, he turned to Jezibell in wonder, "We thought that was just something else Parvati and Lavender came up with."

"It's nothing special," Jezibell picked her book back up and was trying to find the right page "She can only do parseltongue."

Ron was understandably confused, "But how can a _cat _speak in parseltongue?"

"Emmy isn't pure cat. She's a crossbreed, probably rattlesnake seeing the tail and diamond pattern."

Their eyes took in Emmy's coarse fur, flat nostrils, sinuous neck and the bulbous rattles of dried hair at the end of her tail as if for the first time. It did make sense once you started to notice.

"Oh," said Hermione putting on her eager-scholar face, "She's one of those magically bred creatures; I've heard they can go horribly wrong in ways that aren't apparent in the first few years. But I thought the Ministry made the trade illegal."

Jezibell said nothing, mentally adding Emmy's citizenship to the growing herd of elephants in the room. Hermione felt the walls go up in the conversation backed off, "Well, she's a nice pet in any case... You said her name was Emmy, is that short for something?"

"She's a familiar, not a pet," Jezibell corrected, trying not to sound too superior, "And her full name is 'Nemesis' but I got her when I was seven and I had just lost my two front teeth. It kept coming out as 'Emithnith' and there was no way I was calling my cat that. So I nicknamed her Emmy."

She would get reused to telling. Eventually.

They decided to make the most of the time they had left to perform magic before the holidays by practicing spells from the dueling club. Hermione showed them the accurate way to perform a shield charm and they all took turns dispelling each other's wands. Jezibell borrowed Harry's for the time being which felt very weird but his beat Elladora's for compatibility. (She had plans for a new one, but wasn't going to tell anyone in case they called it reckless or unnecessary. Or just didn't like it.) Harry was starting to show promise with the Expelliarmus, but he needed to work on his aim. More than once Emmy found herself being flung across the compartment by way of a misshapen casting and more than once Harry found himself faced with the wrath of a slightly battered venomous snake-cat. Good times.

Jezibell tried expanding her shield, which came in handy when the Weasley Twins came knocking and unleashed a batch of Filibuster Fireworks. Once the sparklers died down, Ginny Weasley joined them all for a game of Exploding Snap. For the traumatic waterworks kid impression Jezibell had of her from the Chamber, Ginny recovered from her abduction quickly. She won four of the six games. Jezibell doubted Draco ever managed this much fun with Scab and Boil in his especially reserved Compartment five.

The scarlet steam engine reached King's Cross far too soon. Jezibell told them she wouldn't be able to keep contact with them over the summer, so addresses were not exchanged. They let Hermione and the Weasley's go out first. She and Harry had the heaviest luggage and it slid to the back of the overhead compartment.

"Will it be much different at your house, now that Dobby's gone?" inquired Harry as Jezibell scooped her embroidered bag and suitcase from the rack. He looked a little guilty that he helped her family servant escape.

"Don't worry. The only difference is Mother will have to start doing housework, instead of just taking credit for Dobby's work. This will be an entertaining summer," But as she dug an arm deeper in the rack for his stuff, Harry pressed on.

"Do you think your father will give you a hard time? He can't know it was your sock, can he? I took off my sock too, so it would like it was mine."

Jezibell arm stopped groping for the plastic handle for a second. She hadn't known that bit. She narrowed her eyes as a cue to drop the subject while handing him his bulky suitcase and book sack, "You should have fun though, telling the muggles of the grand adventure. Killing a giant snake, facing the dark lord, saving the school – they'll be proud."

She tried not to sound too wistful of Harry's undoubtedly gullible and listening naive relatives.

"Proud?" He joked, "Are you kidding? All those times I could have died and didn't quite manage it - they'll be furious!"

Jezibell allowed a half smile. Maybe their families weren't so different, if only in theory. She called for Emmy to follow her and began making the trek to meet Draco at the front of the train. They were going to have to have a little chat if Malfoy Manor was to remain standing this summer. Jezibell thought about what awaited her at the mansion as well. Her father would certainly give her a 'hard time' and then some. But Harry didn't need to know that.


	7. Why Not

Why Not

_Wiltshire England, July Thirtieth_

Dark, silent and hollow.

In three words, one can perfectly capture the feel of Malfoy Manor at night. It was dark, naturally. If you turn out all the lights in a large expansive building 'dark' is what you are bound to get. Silent; all was asleep, hopefully. There used to be sounds, whispers, creaking, rustles that might have been imagination… But all of that was gone now. It was actually rather unnerving to have such calm when one is used to hearing at night. Even if the cause for some of the noise wasn't necessarily _good_, it was familiar. Now the grand house felt like a hollow tomb.

Jezibell's ears pricked to nothing. She was being paranoid. Her mother and father in deep in dream-land and Draco should be too. They better be. The crinkling of the wrapping paper was a small sound, but it echoed none the less in the spacious room. With agonizing care, Jezibell peeled a bit of tape off the dispenser, wincing at a slight squeak it made against the jagged edge. It sliced neatly and she applied it to the bundle of filmy paper on her bed, sealing it. It was done. Harry's birthday gift was wrapped. She breathed. If her mother or father suspected she was wrapping Harry Potter a present at midnight...Well, let's not linger on the consequences. She was already in high water with Father after they discovered the letter announcing she was taking Muggle Studies this year. Last time she forgot to have Emmy stake out the owl nook.

She was about to begin the precariously long journey to the owl tower when she realized she had forgotten something. A letter.

Reaching into the bedside desk, Jezibell whipped out a sheet of parchment and laid it on her workspace. A pot of imported Chinese ink was moved closer for convenience and she dipped her white peahen quill, loading it. But now what? The thing is Jezibell didn't have much experience writing friendly letters. She wrote to her mother and father while at Durmstrang, wrote thank you notes to relatives on her birthday and had her list of school supplies delivered by owl post a few weeks ago. Yet never had she written or received just a regular friend-to-friend-dear-person-how-are-you-sincerely-me letter. How do you begin? Dear Harry? It seemed a little formal for just a present accompanying note. A drip of ink hit the parchment making a black splotch were the heading should be. She started to write.

_**Dear Harry,**_

_**Having a good summer? I expect the muggles aren't very thrilling after a year at Hogwarts, but the gift might remind you that our world still exists even where you are. **_

It was difficult choosing a birthday present for someone whose personal life she know virtually nothing about, but Jezibell had settled on a two-for-one broomstick service kit. Harry played Quidditch and had the next to best model available in a broom, so it should go over well. The other package in the deal was going to Draco. Her brother had been complaining about the loose twigs in his Nimbus 2001 for ages. She wouldn't mention that fact to Harry, though. Jezibell refilled her quill.

_**My holiday has been fairly eventful. Father is looking into getting a new house elf, but as wandering elves are in short supply Mother and I are on kitchen duty. Draco got out of it because he has to practice for Quidditch and Father was 'busy' with his work. They both just want nothing to do with the kitchen (or as I like to call it, The Laboratory). **_

_**We have successfully burnt breakfast twice now and are running out of eggs and patience with them. Boiled, beaten or blasted out of a cannon they are a recipe for a slimy mess. At least the laundry is going well. Draco now has a pair of baby pink pajamas to match his socks (You may take this time to point and laugh raucously). I do all my own stunts with the laundry potion as most of my clothes are either black, white or red and I would prefer not to mix them. **_

_**But back to the meals, where all the real fun is. Mother is getting better at sandwiches but Draco is sick of peanut butter and jelly. He voiced this complaint at dinner last week and was drafted as 'soup stirrer'. I would have pointed and laughed raucously, but was preoccupied with cleaning out all twenty two of our measuring cups (Why did we use twenty two measuring cups for sandwiches? I'll leave that for you to fathom). Lately, Mother has been designating jobs for us to create the illusion of control. My jobs are Potato Peeler, Egg Beater and Keeper of the Measuring Cups. **_

_**It's been unusually casual around here as Father stopped inviting business wizards over to show off the Manor so he can hide the Dobby's obvious absence. He has been making trips to other people's houses for dinner instead. Mother, Draco and I tagged along for the last one and it was quite amusing. Father spent the whole dinner telling an old ministry warlock about our wonderful mansion and all its great benefits. I'm glad I have a natural poker face. **_

_**Tomorrow Mother wants to tackle a roast. I think she's actually starting to enjoy this adventure in homemaking. Draco and I have a bet going: she posts the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad after three hours at the stove or two. I'm betting two. The winner does the other's laundry for a week. We are very serious betters in our family. **_

_**I saw Ron's family in the Prophet. Do you get the Prophet with the muggles? If you don't, the Weasley's won the Scoops drawing for 500 Galleons. They're using it to take a trip to Egypt, where Ron's brother apparently works as a Curse-Breaker. That means he's paid to be awesome rescuing mountains of lost gold in ancient booby trapped tombs. Yeah. So tell Ron congratulations on the Scoops if you're writing him and ask him if we can swap brothers. We are planning a shopping trip to Diagon Alley as Chef Narcissa needs more tools for torture. It'll be sometime in August, no date is set yet, but with how things are cooking here I'd guess it'll be put off until the last few days of holiday. Maybe I'll see you, Hermione or the Weasleys there.**_

_**Have as happy a birthday as you can,**_

_**Jezibell**_

She reread the letter, checking to see if she forgot anything. Emmy prowled into view and Jezibell remembered one last edit.

_**p.s. Emmy hisses hi.**_

It looked about right. The letter told of all the good, funny bits that happened this summer. Her mother the struggling chef, her father the anxious business man and Draco the lazy but joking twin. She failed to mention that the 'ministry wizard' was for the anti muggle-protection act campaign, or that Father had been to Egypt once when he was younger to recruit foreign wizards for the Dark Lord or the small discovery Jezibell made when going to the bathroom one morning a few weeks ago. None of the above was Harry's business and they were going to stay that way. Jezibell blew on the parchment to help the ink dry and then pulled out a manila envelope to put it in. The paper was monogrammed _L.M. _with a minute peacock design in the corner. Jezibell wished there was a less formal option in stationary. Once the tab was sealed over the birthday greetings, she scrawled **Harry Potter, Little Whinging, 4 Privet Drive **(She knew his address from a look in Father's files one day when he forgot to lock his study. Now that the diary was gone, she had no fear of it and guessed the retired Death Eaters would be keeping tabs on the Boy Who Lived in the unlikely event He made a comeback. She wasn't disappointed. They knew where and who he lived with, what muggle school he used to go to and how many times he'd been to his squib neighbor's house for tea. Thirty-two. It was enough to make Jezibell feel uncomfortable. She had memorized the address and quickly relocked the drawer) on the back and taped it to the gift. She probably would've gotten away with sticking it on by magic, but she was still short one wand.

Now came the risky part: mailing it.

Jezibell picked up the tightly bound package and eased of the bed as not to creak any of the wood. She tip-toed to the door of her room, walking around the patch of floor that habitually squeaked, and slowly turned the knob, feeling the uneven patterns of serpentine artwork on the brass as she did so. The hinges pushed open easily and she exhaled. There was a staircase leading to the ground floor just outside her room. To avoid the master bedroom, she would have to go down and around to entrance hall then back up the stairs to the east tower.

She walked out into the hall and had her right foot on the staircase when a sudden gushing sound made her jump. The faucet made a grinding noise as it was shut off and the bathroom door opened behind her. Jezibell froze. A bleary eyed Draco shuffled out, a glass of water in his hand. Curse those fluffy white, now pink, socks Mother gave him. They must have muffled his footsteps in the hall. He stared at her for a moment, taking in the wrapped box she held and her caught expression.

Jezibell glared at her brother pointedly and he shrugged in an I'm-not-getting-involved-here way and continued his path down the corridor to his bedroom. As part of the Malfoy Sibling Agree to Disagreement, Draco was to feign ignorance when it came to Jezibell's unauthorized cohorts. Of course, the second part of this deal was that Jezibell had to restrain from busting him when he sneaked into Father's study to steal a dark object.

Creeping through the wide halls, empty rooms and under vaulted ceilings, Jezibell made her way to the owlery without any more confrontations. When she reached the tower, she saw there was only one owl of the two they owned at its perch. Abraxas, the Eagle Owl, named for her deceased grandfather.

His yellow eyes peered disdainfully down at her, a dead ringer of his namesake. Jezibell scowled at him. She didn't like the bird much. He was noisy, vain and never sat still when you attached the letter. He was for show, the owl used when her mother sent Draco sweets at school and when her father had an important ministry representative he wanted to impress. Flashy and proud, Abraxas did his job of intimidating and looking haughtily first class. But he was temperamental and didn't like going to addresses out of the ordinary. Jezibell wasn't sure how you got blood feuds across to an owl, but Abraxas always seemed to know who he was delivering to and their social status. Jezibell scowled. She had been hoping for Iris.

Iris was the other owl of the Malfoy family. She was rarely at her perch; Father had a seemingly endless amount of jobs for her. She was a pale tan Barn and her wings moved noiselessly, not even a rustle of feathers when she flew. Unlike Abraxas, she wasn't used to be imposing. Her regular flights included trips to Knockturn Alley, some of the other old Death Eater's houses and whenever her father wanted his correspondence to go unnoticed. Iris wasn't fussy about what neighborhood she was being sent to and kept her serenity while you tied the letter. She was exactly the owl Jezibell needed for her midnight message.

Jezibell waited at the high window for Iris to return, ignoring Abraxas and his disapproval. Moonbeams lit the vast lawn below her and she could see the church steeple silhouetted fine and black against the faint light. She knew that living atop a hill in a great mansion made her father feel as though he lorded over the common folk and muggles below, but to Jezibell it was ostracism. She was detached from the mundane lives of the villagers and instead of feeling privileged it seemed isolating. Especially so now that Father had confined her to house and grounds for the second summer in a row. Well, maybe her new friendship with Harry, Ron and Hermione would change that. Not the grounding, which could only get worse, but the separation of Jezibell and the rest of society. The Chamber of Secrets incident last year would gave her a new start in her existence as Hogwarts student. She planned to make the most of it.

Crisp night air licked her face, gently combing loose strands of hair off it and ruffling the wrapping paper. A light shadowy speck hovered at the edge of her vision. Was it Iris? The time was around 12:30 am, according to the large ornate clock in the living room. July thirty first. It would be best for Harry to get his present before his relatives woke up. They didn't sound like the type who would appreciate a 20 Galleon deluxe broomstick service kit.

The speck drew closer. It passed the church, disappeared in the shadow and then out grew it, the rise and fall of wings coming clear. It was indeed Iris, and the quiet Barn had something in her talons. Iris swooped directly to the window and up to Jezibell. Abraxas shifted his feathers superciliously but kept his beak shut. Jezibell took the note from the owl's claws, expecting her father's name on it. Instead it read _Jezibell Malfoy, Wiltshire mansion. _The return address was _Olivander's Wand Shop, Diagon Alley London. _Jezibell hoped this letter said what she thought it did. She sent out her request to the Wandmaker a few weeks ago. Iris must have picked up this reply on her way back from whatever delivery she was making for Father. Good thing it arrived so soon, Jezibell had been worried she would be stuck with another hand-me-down.

She motioned for Iris to stay put, not that the practiced owl needed any encouragement, and tied on the bulky birthday gift. Iris was a larger owl so she shouldn't have too much trouble with the heavy present. Abraxas shuffled his wings irritably because he wasn't getting attention though he hated it when he did. Jezibell made a face at him.

Iris took off, soaring down to the valley more awkward then usual with the load, but still flying in complete stealth. Jezibell watched the owl's form dissolve into the night, turning Olivander's letter over in her hand. Yes, maybe this year would be different than the others. She smiled to herself through a dark, hollow silence and the house slept around her.

* * *

_Burris Borgin_

Mr. Borgin smoothed his slick black hair over his scalp, watching the two will be customers talking outside the shop window. He had adopted this style of oiling his hair because it was supposed to make him look younger. After the success with their first and only assistant, Mr. Borgin had been trying to imitate the charismatic young man who made business boom. But that was many years ago and since then the shop had lost some of its attraction and customers. Mr. Borgin milked every penny that was offered to him and the sight of the Malfoy brats arguing outside his dusty store made his miser's heart leap. There were no people easier to sucker than rich children.

The fair boy seemed to be losing the debate. He gestured at the shop a few times in demonstration of some point, but his darker sister simply crossed her arms and said something indistinguishable through the thick glass. The boy gave a resigned sigh and then jerked his thumb at 14B. The girl nodded, the boy went into the neighboring building and Mr. Borgin tapped his figures impatiently on his counter top. The girl turned to around to face his window and Mr. Borgin quickly began shuffling the file of receipts in his drawers. Had she seen? A reliable salesman is never nosy. Not that Mr. Borgin would ever be mistaken for a reliable salesman, but a good impression was best. He kept his eyes on his files until the tinkling bell rang, announcing the girl's entrance into the shop.

Mr. Borgin watched her as she browsed the selves carefully avoiding eye contact. Buying or selling? Selling or buying? He scrutinized her movements for clues; nervousness if selling, eagerness if buying, but her calm stance gave nothing away. She completed a full circuit around the shop before coming to his desk. By this time Borgin was in a state of high anticipation. If she had brought something of her father's, he could easily coax it from her for 50% less than if her parents were here. He showed none of it though, pasting on his most helpful and friendly smile, lowering his head just a tad to make the girl feel more at ease.

"What can I do for you today, Miss-?"

Damn, he'd forgotten her name. It something like 'Isabella' or 'Jemima', but he couldn't take the chance of getting it wrong. Leaving the 'Miss' hanging by itself sounded condensing to a teenager, producing reluctance for acting as an adult. Mr. Borgin cursed himself for not being more attentive when Lucius Malfoy made the introductions.

The girl looked him shrewdly in the eye, as if she were sizing him up. Her heavy features reminded him of another witch who had been a regular at the Dark Arts store until several years ago. She had a fondness for shrewd looks as well.

"I'd like to know what this is worth."

She reached into the avian embroidered bag slung round her shoulder, extracted a medium sized bottle of dark liquid and held it up for him to see. It was placed on the desk with a small tap. Mr. Borgin reached for it in delayed reaction, doing his best to hide his excitement. He held the bottle up to the light and observed how it shown through. The liquid was black as ink, but it was less dense than plain calligraphy would be. Clearly not some form of blood; there was no congealment. It reminded him of snake venom, but it had to be more valuable than that or it wouldn't have been brought to him. Perhaps that of a Runspoore, but it wasn't quite the same as the other vials he had acquired. Mr. Borgin worked to keep up the casual charade as he tried to figure out what it was.

"Give up?"

He turned back to the girl, who was still watching him. It had been ten minutes while he examined the strange substance, still not able to put a label on it. It was embarrassing, really, to have failed at the task he was specialized in and not good for the exchange if the customer knew something about the item he didn't. But now Mr. Borgin was sizzling with curiosity and forced to ask.

"What is it?"

His words were hurried and less nonchalant than he would have liked, but the Malfoy girl's reply made him forget all about the immediate conversation.

"Basilisk venom. 8 ounces of it."

_Basilisk _venom. The rarity was so great it was nearly unheard of, even in _Borgin and Burkes_, center of the British Dark Magical trade. Over the years they purchased and sold Re'em blood, Nundu pelts and even once found the cloak of a subdued Lethifold, but never came across anything from a Basilisk. If it was in his possession, wizards would come from miles to obtain it. The biding would make him a very rich man indeed, possibilities for the profits simply sky rocketed. Mr. Borgin was lost in dreams of crisp dress robes and gold tipped canes for a minute, before he jerked himself back to actually purchasing the venom. That is, if that's what it was - the girl could very easily be lying. Mr. Borgin was dying to ask where she had obtained such a treasure, but it wasn't his job to know where. It was to know how much.

"Have you shown this to anyone else?"

"Yes, the Apothecary settled on 350 Galleons. But I wanted a more experienced opinion."

And he was trapped. Any hope of convincing her that she must have mistaken this for common Runspoore venom had gone out the window. 350 Galleons! The scum at the Apothecary must want those 8 ounces pretty bad. Unless she was lying and hadn't been to the place at all. But he couldn't call her bluff; he wanted the toxin too much. The girl wore her bangs as a mask, but there was the ghostly smirk of Shoppers Past haunting her features, as if she could see through his hesitant manner to tell how desperate he was for that bottle.

"I find it would be worth a bit more than that," Find a price, less than four hundred is reasonable, "380 Galleons."

"30 Galleons more? I should have mentioned, the venom is barely a few months old. I doubt it exists anywhere else in such good quality."

Mr. Borgin kept his face composed with effort. _Fresh _Basilisk venom? He _had _to have it. "How about 400, then?"

"Perhaps."

Mr. Borgin reached into his money drawer, looking for the right pouch.

"But anyone who would buy for 400 would be willing for 420."

He stopped cold. It was already 70 Galleons more than the alternate asking price; he didn't want this to get out of hand, "Not necessarily-"

"Mr. Borgin, if you are dissatisfied with my price there are any number of shopkeepers here who would take it without thought."

Her tone was derisive, but layered in a promise they both knew well. No other Dark Magical store was as successful as _Borgin and Burkes_ that it could offer her a better deal, but many proprietors off the market would lay down fortunes at the promise of Basilisk venom and probably go broke doing so. But a teenage girl wouldn't ruin a life like that. Or would she? Mr. Borgin didn't have time to weigh her bluff. He was too busy watching her slide the venom across the counter top to herself, preparing to leave the shop.

"440, then!" he heard himself cry as the Malfoy girl replaced the precious bottle in her pocket. She pretended not to hear him. "450!"

She slapped it back on the table, "Done."

The black bottle was exchanged for the brown bag of gold. She sifted through the pouch to insure he hadn't tried to cheat, which Mr. Borgin might have if he wasn't in a state of shock. How had he gone from asking what the liquid was to all but begging for it? Lucius Malfoy's daughter dipped her head in a calm farewell, "Good day, Mr. Borgin and thank you."

"Anytime, anytime," Mr. Borgin cooed, not lifting his eyes from the container in his hand. She dropped her earnings into the side pocket of her bag, did the clasp and walked out of the shop. Mr. Borgin maintained his servant's posture until the tinkling bell sounded, along with the gentle _whuf _of the shutting door. Then he let his cheerful face fall to grimace. 350 Galleons to 450 in 15 minutes. That girl made her father look like the Patron Saint of Generosity. But still, _fresh Basilisk venom_!

* * *

_Diagon Alley, August Thirty-first_

Jezibell walked briskly out of Knockturn Alley, keeping a steady hand on her bag and eyes firmly forward. The Dark Arts Street was useful and conveniently placed, but it was best to take precautions against the other shoppers. Her visit to _Borgin and Burkes _had been much more productive than she had expected. It was difficult not to take some pride in that she out bartered Borgin, the most cunningly coning salesman in wizarding Britain. Watching her father do deals for years paid off nicely. Very nicely, Jezibell thought of the fat pouch holding her 450 Galleons and felt a surge of self-satisfaction.

The lane began to open up to the busy main street of Diagon Alley. The dusty shops fell to the shadows to be replaced by bright stores with enticing logos. Jezibell passed the _Magical Menagerie_ that was having a scuffle within. Resisting the urge to stay to watch a large escaped cat being chased by his harried mistress, she kept going past _Gambol and Japes_(so popular a destination she could hardly see the display through the shoppers), the second hand robes shop(Jezibell could smell the moth balls from across the street as she watched a portly red haired woman haggle vigorously inside) and several petite cafes. The last store on her side was cramped between two boxy clothing stores. It didn't appear to be receiving much traffic, which was surprising as it was the last day before term. _Olivander's Wands _was usually swarmed with ecstatic eleven year-olds purchasing their keys to magic. Jezibell remembered how happy she had been upon getting her first wand. Such excitement for nothing, it didn't even last a year. The replacement hadn't fared much better. She thought of her Great Aunt Elladora's old wand that now lay in splinters in the Chamber of Secrets and got a vicious pleasure at the image.

_Olivander's_ like _Borgin and Burkes _was less than well kept. The paint was peeling in several places, a color that was probably once blue; some shingles on the roof were coming loose and the windows were so dusty you could hardly see through them. The inside was just as squished as its outdoor appearance gave. Its elongated rectangular shape gave the impression that you were standing inside a wand-case. The haphazardly stacked boxes of wands were not good for the claustrophobic and it was rather stuffy too with the sealed over windows. Jezibell triggered the bell-charm set over the doorway and heard a noise from the back of the shop. She wondered vaguely if the shopkeepers ever grew tired of listening to the falsely cheery _ding-a-ling ding _all day. It would drive her nuts in an hour.

Mr. Olivander emerged behind the small mountains of boxes. He flicked his own battered wand and sent an armful of them back into place. He looked weary after a day of first-years, his lopsided wizard's hat askew on unkempt white hair and a few receipts dangling out of a back pocket.

"Ah, hello, Miss," The wand-maker began in a reedy voice. The lunar eyes contradicted his harried manner to point where it was unnerving, "Do you have a pre-ordered wand or are you here to be chosen?

"Preordered. I am Jezibell Malfoy, you replied to my request a few weeks ago."

"Yes, that one. Oh yes..." Olivander trailed off, lost in his own weird thoughts. Jezibell cleared her throat to get his attention, "Yes, yes."

The old man picked a more recent container off his desk and opened the lid, "Thirteen inches and birch, as you requested,"

The wand was a beautiful pearl-gray in color, slender and long to taper at the end. Natural designs from the birch wood made eye shaped patterns that swirled around the handle. It was perfect, and it was hers.

"And the core?"

When Jezibell sent the Basilisk fang to the Wandmaker, she knew it was risky. Considering the rarity of the relic, it was unlikely it had ever been used for a wand core before. Jezibell did her homework and knew that even though there were exotic varieties outside the unicorn hair, phoenix feather and dragon heartstring Olivander specialized in, wandlore was a delicate breed of magic. Things tended to go awry when experimenting. Badly. But Jezibell couldn't resist a try anyway. She wanted something new and different to call her own. Not another secondhand Mother forced on her and she wasn't sure if a wand that chose her would choose right. It was silly, but she felt all the other aspects of her life that were chosen for her - parents, social status, looks, Hogwarts house, name - were out of place, out of sync with who she saw herself to be. Or who she would like to be. So she decided to do her own destiny and send instructions for a totally unique wand of Basilisk fang to _Olivander's._

Mr. Olivander was still staring at the birch wand, reluctant to see it go, "The tooth was difficult to work with, though it appears to suit this wand just fine. I don't often take requests for alternate cores, but this was an extraordinary opportunity to stretch the bounds of wandlore. But considering the malevolent nature of a Basilisk I should thank you to be cautious when using it. It's terribly temperamental, bold and enduring but with an undeniable sadistic streak. The light elegance of the birch brings a balance to the primal power, but still I wonder..."

He continued to watch the wand as if he expected it to start changing the world any second now. Jezibell was about to set the delicate instrument back in its box but Mr. Olivander interrupted her, claiming she must see if it was compatible or not.

"Just try some simple magic with it."

That hadn't occurred to her that the wand might not accept her, and Jezibell briefly considered the idea that it would fail miserably. But it wouldn't. It contained a bit of a beast whose master she had slain, how could it not bow to her will? She grasped the polished wood and felt the cool smooth surface under her palm. She gave it a neat flick.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

One of the containers Olivander had forgotten was levitated neatly onto a shelf. The wand did her will perfectly and more effectively than Elladora's ever had. For the first time Jezibell felt she found something tailor made to her couldn't wait to tell her friends.

* * *

_Ronald Weasley_

"Ok, let's try this again. Where did ice cream parlor guy say Harry went?"

Hermione and Ron were standing outside Gringotts, looking at the shabby pocket map they had picked up at the _Leaky Cauldron. _Normally, staring at a map is the last thing anyone does in Diagon Alley as there are so many more worthwhile things to feast your eyes on. Like, say, the new Firebolt at _Quality Quidditch Supplies_. Or that street vendor selling hot-pots for two Sickles a bag. Ron breathed the summery air heavily as the hot-pot smell wafted over to them. They had been all over the bloody alley this morning, starting at the _Leaky Cauldron_ were Harry was supposed to be staying, then following the vague instructions of a senile bartender to _Quality Quidditch Supplies_(Ron felt frustrated at this point, it was perfectly clear that any bloke would make a bee-line for the Quidditch store). Ron barely got a glimpse at the illustrious Firebolt before Hermione had dragged him out of the shop with new directions for _Florean Fortescue's_ were Harry frequented. And now they were outside Gringotts, staring at a map while the wonders of Diagon Alley moved around them.

"He said Harry had been going to a lot of stores and cafes lately." Hermione was determined to find him before they actually started shopping anywhere, "Maybe he went to the bank to get some more gold."

"Well, we're here and I'm not seeing Harry."

"You _wouldn't_ see him if he's inside the vaults right now. I think we should wait here until he comes back."

"I'm starving," said Ron emphatically. It was true they hadn't eating anything since his mother's breakfast sandwiches and those hot-pots smelled better by minute.

"How about I go see what that bloke is selling," he jerked his thumb at the hot-pot guy, "and we can wait over in that cafe."

Hermione was doubtful, "But what if Harry comes back while we're looking the other way?"

"Hermione, if he's really in the vaults it could be hours before he's back! We'll just get some food while we wait."

Hermione was still hesitant, but Ron thought she was starting to waver in her resolve. Someone called 'Guys!' to the right of them, but they ignored it. There were a hundred guys in Diagon Alley and didn't sound like Harry.

"Ron! Hermione!"

Both turned away from the map to see who the caller was, searching the crowded streets of shoppers. A black head was wending its way to them though the throng, waving a hand to draw their attention. Jezibell Malfoy made it through the masses to where Hermione and Ron were standing with some difficulty. Her bag was jostled this way and that, it came very close to hitting some old warlock in the face.

"Oh, hi!" said Hermione, putting on a good friendly show. Jezibell wasn't exactly buddies with everyone in the trio yet. Sure, Harry started counting her as a friend after the whole Chamber of Secrets deal and she was nice enough once you cracked through her fortress of attitude. But still, it wasn't as if they could just forget about her blond prick brother. And her dad, he nearly ruined Dad's career and tried to kill Ginny. She may not be the heir of Slytherin, but that didn't make her good company.

But she gave a brave face. Her mouth stretched to the side in what was either a strained smile or a grimace.

"Entering the bank? I came to deposit, myself."

The last thing Ron wanted to do was extract from his parents' vault at Gringotts while Miss Moneybags Malfoy was there. She would undoubtedly note how measly his family's earnings were compared to hers and even if nothing was said, he would know she was both pitied and disgusted by him. Thankfully, Hermione intervened.

"No, we're waiting here for Harry. He's been staying in Diagon Ally and I think he came here to extract more gold. It might be a while, though. But _you_ can go ahead."

A sugarcoated attempt to get rid of Jezibell, but the girl didn't call them on it.

"Yeah, he was in trouble at the Ministry," she said, "About his Aunt Mary - ?"

"Marge," corrected Ron. Dad had told him and the rest of the family all about Harry's illegal inflation. Ron was kind of surprised Jezibell didn't know the gory details with Lucius Malfoy's good connections. "He blew up his aunt, like a balloon!"

Ok, it was fun to watch her eyebrows vanish beneath the heavy bangs at the last bit, but they didn't really want to spend a day shopping with her.

"Wow. So the muggles kicked him out."

"No, he ran away to here and the Minister found him and said he could stay for the rest of the Hols," explained Hermione, "We've been all over trying to find him so we can do our shopping together, but couldn't locate him anywhere. We think he might be in the Gringotts vaults right now."

"Seems a dull wait for a hunch," Jezibell adjusted the clasp on her handbag casually. It looked like silk. "We could shop, have lunch and then meet back at the _Leaky_ _Cauldron_ where Harry's staying."

It _was _admittedly a better plan then hanging around the gates of the bank (one of the goblin sentries was starting to give them funny looks) and Ron and Hermione did have enough in their pockets for most of the items on the list. They exchanged a glance and Hermione gave a tiny 'why not?' shrug.

Ron sighed in defeat. "Fine, but let's get lunch first. I'm still starving."

Jezibell nodded agreeably, "We can have some of what that vendor is selling."

Her gaze slid sideways at the hot-pot guy. Why not?

The hot-pots smelled even better when they were two feet away waiting to be purchased. Ron and Hermione dug in their bags for change, but Jezibell was already ordering.

"Three bags, lightly toasted."

Ron had just fished out the silver coins for himself and was prepared give it to the vendor by force. It was uncomfortable enough when Harry flaunted his bottomless vault at Gringotts and single-handed paid for whole lunch trolleys, but he was Ron's best mate and that made it more or less ok. Jezibell Malfoy paying for hot-pots was another story. Those two Sickles were not given because they were good chums. It was pity money and Ron wanted none of it.

"You don't have to cover, I can pay myself -" He began tersely. Jezibell turned to face him and rolled her eyes so extravagantly Ron was sure it was sarcasm.

"Listen. You don't want me to pay for the sake of your two Sickles on a bite of street food, let me for the sake of the sweet irony that I am buying for you with the same coins swindled from Mr. Borgin, the most exclusive salesman in Knockturn Alley?"

Well, when she put it like that.

"We should start at _Madam Malkin's,_ because it's the closest and I do need new robes, and just work our way down the block. Next is _Flourish and Blotts _we can get most of our schools supplies there, but - oh- I also need a stop at the Apothecary, my potions kit is running low," Hermione was in full swing, rattling off destinations as they strolled past shops, munching their hot-pots. Ron finished his bag first and upon tossing it into the nearest trash can he remembered something Jezibell mentioned.

"So what were you saying about Knockturn Alley?" He was sure she was kidding. Knockturn Alley was the place where they did the illegal trades and sold Dark Magic stuff. Mum and Dad annually forbade the Weasley siblings not to go anywhere near the shady (in more ways than one) street. No way Jezibell did bargaining in there. She said nothing, staring at the passing advertisements in the store windows.

"Ok…glad I asked…." Ron mumbled uncomfortable with the silence. No wonder her best friend was a cat if she wouldn't even respond to a simple question.

"Remember the Basilisk fang in Dumbledore's office last year?" Jezibell shot this query abruptly, as if she'd heard his thoughts and wanted to prove him wrong. Ron just shrugged. A lot took place in Dumbledore's office last year, namely Ginny being returned to the family safely after escaping death, expulsion and Moaning Myrtle. How was he supposed recall all the souvenirs Harry got from that twisted adventure?

"I asked Dumbledore if he could let me have it and when I brought it home I tried extracting the venom from it so -"

"Wait, back up. What did you want a Basilisk fang for?" Girl was creepier than they'd thought. What was she going to do, make poisonous jewelry?

"I'm getting to that. Anyway, I extracted the venom and it turned out to be a lot, eight ounces worth." She held up her hands to represent the size of an eight ounce Basilisk venom bottle, "I took it to the Apothecary to see if I could get a good price for it."

How do you get from the Apothecary to Knockturn Alley? Jezibell was winding them up. Even Hermione stopped in her monologue to listen now, "They said that the price on Basilisk venom would be 350 Galleons. But I thought I could get a bit more if I tried the alternative."

"Which is -" demanded Hermione impatiently.

"_Borgin and Burkes_, 13B Knockturn Alley."

She may as well have dropped a loaded dung bomb. With skunk pellet shrapnel.

"I think I once read something about that place," said Hermione (shocking, yes?), "It specializes in Dark Artifacts."

"Yeah, and scamming the pants off buyers" said Ron in disbelief. If Knockturn Alley seemed implausible, 13B was another universe entirely. It was as if Jezibell was claiming to have ding-dong-ditched the devil or something.

"What did you do?" asked Hermione.

Jezibell spoke baldly, like she was on trial for a crime (which in a sense she was),"I told the guy at the desk, Borgin, that it was Basilisk venom and he was practically salivating over it. I gave him the batna and threw my father's weight around a bit and -"

Ron cut her off by holding his hand up for a second timeout, "What's a batna?"

"It stands for Best Alternative to a Negotiated Agreement; the option left to the bargainer if compromise fails," said Hermione readily, "in this case it would be the price given by the Apothecary."

"The Plan B," summarized Jezibell, "My father says you always need a good bluff when you're trying to get something from someone. Once Mr. Borgin knew I had another place to sell the venom to, he upped his original asking price. In the end, I sold it to him for 450 Galleons."

"Wow, you must have been really persuasive," exclaimed Hermione.

Or really evil. Jezibell Malfoy seemed almost as much of a crook as her father, swindling the professional swindler. 450 Galleons! That was more than half the prize money Dad won from the Scoop's drawing, and she'd gotten it for only a tiny bottle of liquid. Why did some people have to be so much luckier than others? Even when the Weasleys did get a break, like with the Scoop's, they got pushed back down by a sly business trick. All that batna stuff just sounded like the same-old-same-old Slytherin excuses for taking more than they gave.

Hermione was now going on about the mechanics of the troll-na, so Ron was left to stew in his own thoughts. Only when Hermione brought up what Jezibell planned to do with her riches(not that riches was a foreign concept to a Malfoy) did he bother to tune back in.

"Most of it went to my replacement wand-"

"Oh, I forgot yours broke too," Hermione sympathized, "can we take a look at it?"

Speak for yourself. Jezibell reached into her bag to pull out the thin package. She opened it up for them to see.

Hermione oohed. "It's so pretty."

It wasn't a gnarled stump, Ron gave it that. He wondered how much Jezibell bribed Olivander to shine it just so. Ron's own wand was light beige, containing one unicorn hair. The silt-gray color of Jezibell's new addition wasn't exactly glamorous, in his opinion, but it had a nice effect. Sort of contrasting its witch's dark appearance. But he wasn't complementing it.

"It's birch," She told them, "And Basilisk fang."

She looked directly at Ron as she revealed this latest incredibility, daring him to say something against it.

"Not bad," He said lamely, "whatever flies your broom, you know."

They reached their destination of _Flourish and Blotts. _The tinkling bell charm rang from above and Ron thought idly about the convenience it was for the storekeepers to know when they had customers. He wished he could stick one on his mother. The assistant came running as soon as he heard it. What he could do for them today? Hermione promptly told him, listing what sounded like the half the store and the assistant hurried off. Jezibell checked off each title on Hermione's master list as he brought them.

"Three copies of _Standard Book of Spells Grade 3, _two of _My Life as a Muggle _and the_ Philosophy of the Mundane -" _She broke off, "Hermione, you're taking _Muggle Studies_. Why? You're a mud -, ah, your family is muggle. You'd know everything already."

"You mean more so than usual," put in Ron.

Hermione looked at them both in surprise that such a question would occur to them, "But it will be so much more interesting from a wizarding perspective!"

Jezibell shrugged and did not pursue the subject, "Now we need one _Spellman's Syllabary _and one _Rune Dictionary, _two of _Unfogging the Future - _no I said two, not three. I'm not taking Divination,"

"Not interested in what the future holds?" asked Ron while the assistant scurried away to return the extra copy. He was pretty sure everyone else in their year had signed up for fortune telling. He knew he was eager to start predicting events (preferably lucky ones). Why would anyone not want such a useful class?

"I've met Seers. They can be odd."

"Right, how silly of me. Because y_ou_ aren't the_ slightest_ bit weird yourself, and _of course_ you wouldn't want to sully your down to earth reputation." Ron said sarcastically.

"Not a chance. I got too much riding on it," Jezibell slowly twirled the Basilisk wand. She had spindly hands, small palms and the fingers very sharply jointed and insect-like in their movements. Spider-like. No wonder Ron wasn't fond of her.

"But seriously, aren't you curious about what's going to happen to you?"

"I prefer to live in the moment. Two of _Numerology and Grammatica_," She checked off the next point by singing the paper with her wand.

"That's underage magic!" Hermione spluttered, "You could be expelled! Again!"

"Well, not expelled if it's her first time, but an official warning at least," Ron said quietly, peering out through the stacks of books out the window, expecting law enforcement to be coming down any second. This was a very basic rule drilled into him since the first summer back. No magic in the Hols. "That's what Harry got, and it wasn't even him doing the magic. It said if he did a second time then yeah, expulsion."

"This is Diagon Alley, not Privet Drive," Jezibell branded a black smiley face with x-eyes onto the list above the Muggle Studies titles within plain view of the returning assistant. "See. Nobody cares."

"You've got a father in the ministry," pointed out Ron while Hermione took the heavy volumes from the assistant.

"And a brother in Slytherin, and a mother who guest writes for Witch Weekly" Jezibell consulted the defaced list. "Three of _the Monster Book of Monsters._"

The assistant's cheery expression melted into horror. He pulled a pair of dragon hide gloves out of his back pocket and grabbed a long pole that was leaning on the front desk. Now armed, he walked stiffly to where the_ Monster Book of Monsters_' were shelved, er, caged. The three watched as the assistant popped the clasp on the cage door and began using the stick in one hand to deflect the aggressive critters while making a grab for three less feisty ones. The books were chucked over his shoulder and Ron, Jezibell and Hermione caught them neatly. Their captives grew quiet after the shock, but the trio quickly took precautions to bind them in spell-o-tape conveniently placed on the desk. The assistant survived his attack, as Hermione was relieved to see, and he sold them their books lamenting all the while about why he would never stock those brutes again. Poor bloke needs a vacation.

Their next stop was at the Apothecary, though Hermione allowed a pause so Ron and Jezibell could gaze at the Firebolt's splendor. Ron wondered how much it cost in relation to the Malfoy vault. It had to be at least seven hundred times the Weasley family vault. After they had stocked up on beetle eyes and powdered unicorn horn, they went to _Madam Malkin's _so Hermione could get some new robes (Ron already had hand-me-downs and Jezibell's mother preordered hers.). They considered going to _Eyelope's Owls_ so Hermione could buy one, but Ron insisted on a pit-stop at _Florean Foretescue's Ice Cream Parlor_(those hot-pots were decades away).When Jezibell paid for their peanut butter and raspberry cones, Ron decided to let it slide along with the sneaking suspicion he had that his and Hermione's gold hadn't been quite enough for all the books they bought. It wasn't so bad, having her cover, and she didn't make a fuss over it.

It was still a bit weird to chat with Jezibell about their summer vacations, even though she let them do the telling. Hermione was in love with France. She told them all about the hotel she stayed at, lunch in Dijon and - oh - the Eiffel Tower and real French croissants! She took a day trip to a muggle war cemetery in Bayeux where a great-uncle of hers was buried, and then went to the Normandy museum nearby to learn how he died. She went to the Louvre, and saw what she claimed was only an eighth of the national gallery though it sounded like enough art history to concuss a troll. She even got to catch a bit of the Tour de France (Her dad's into cycling). It probably would have been quicker for her to have listed what French landmarks she _hadn't_ seen.

Ron described the family trip to Egypt, about his brother the Curse-Breaker and seeing the inside of Khufu's pyramid. His vacation was less about touring the country of choice and more Bill showing them how incredible his job was. Hermione found this interesting enough, but she was appalled they had not gone to the Alexandria library. Incomprehensible a notion as this was, Ron decided Hermione was a much better audience than another witch he could name. Where Hermione grimaced at the mutilated muggle skeletons, frowned when Fred and George tried to shut Percy the Big-head Boy in a pyramid and smiled in rapture at the great Sahara Desert, Jezibell only listened and stared and every so often made a dry comment. She never laughed, not even when Percy grew horns on his buttocks.

"Guys!"

Jezibell was in the middle of her own story about her parents working to salvage a roast that had become a headless chicken of doom when too much salt was added, so they didn't register who was calling immediately.

"Hermione, Ron! Jezibell!"

That made them all turn round to see Harry hurrying down the street in their direction, waving.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, "We've been looking for you all over!"

As it turned out, Harry had spent most of the day window-shopping for the Firebolt (giving Ron full rights to 'I told you so') and had just left around the time Ron, Hermione and Jezibell came. Hermione still had not gotten her owl, so they decided to go to _the Magical Menagerie_ before returning to the _Leaky Cauldron. _As they started to head to the shop they realized they were one party member short.

"Hey," called Ron, spotting Jezibell a little ways down the street. "Aren't you coming?"

"Draco's still in Knockturn Alley. Mother made us promise to stay together and she'll be back for us by two."

"Oh, come on," said Harry, "We don't mind. You can say you were shopping for cat food or something. We _are _going to a pet store."

She deliberated for a second. Did they not mind? Ron was surprised by Harry speaking for them like that, but he realized he didn't mind either.

"Alright," Jezibell Malfoy walked back to join them, "Why not?"


	8. Doing the Time Warp

Doing the Time Warp

_Gryffindor Girls' Dormitory, September First_

"Come on puss-puss, please eat. Crookshanks, it's good for you, the lady at the menagerie said so. It's full of yummy vitamins and good proteins for healthy kitties!"

The ginger tom rolled its eyes with almost human disdain at the bowl of chow Hermione was shoving under its nose. Jezibell was supposed to be helping her reason the cat into eating, though she really couldn't see the appetizing qualities in _Miss Milky-Mittens'_ finest either.

"Hermione, you don't have to feed him that mulch. Emmy's had nothing but table scraps her whole life."

But Hermione was determined. Over the past hour she had tried everything to make that stubborn puss eat the orthodox cat food; covering it in a special kitty-treat mix that looked like fertilizer in the shape of mice, convincing Emmy to do a demonstration on how delicious it was (Jezibell let her spit it into a napkin when Hermione wasn't looking) but nothing was budging him.

"Maybe he's not hungry. Cats can be fickle." Actually, Jezibell didn't know anything of the sort about normal cat behavior. Emmy was never hard for Jezibell to figure out as Jezibell could always just ask her hybrid what the trouble was and she'd usually tell. Crookshanks wasn't so socially skilled. But the case was convincing, if untrue, and Hermione bought it.

"You're probably right," she sighed, and then addressed the cat, "We'll try again tomorrow, Crookshanky. I want you to get your daily dose of Vitamin C for your sharp eyes."

Crookshanks licked his rear. Emmy narrowed her eyes from Jezibell's four-poster and rattled the dried balls of fur on the end of her tail, "_Stupid furball." _

On the train ride to Hogwarts, Emmy and Crookshanks hadn't become the great feline friends Hermione had hoped. Crookshanks was very territorial and seemed more interested in Scabbers than another cat, which Emmy found disgustingly cliché. She thought of herself as a different class of animal, an attitude that probably came from being fed those fresh tidbits of the finest meat, and wouldn't lower herself to speak in the regular cat lingo, though Jezibell knew she could.

"What did she say?" asked Hermione, having heard the parseltongue remark. She asked this whenever Emmy spoke, making it difficult for familiar and companion to have their private discussions like they used to. It was very rare that Jezibell answered Hermione's curiosity in truth. She generally made up something her pseudo-friend might like to hear, like in this case: "She was saying how tasty Mice-Bites are." and then thank whatever controlled such things that Emmy didn't understand English anymore then Hermione did parseltongue.

Having checked harassing the new pet off her To Do list, Hermione began unpacking her clothes and numerous books to stack them on the bedside table. Jezibell observed her proceedings and noted that all the volumes were in alphabetical order with their spines facing the same direction. That girl had way too much time on her hands. On the opposite end of the dormitory were their other roommates, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who were fulfilling their Gossip Queen duties and cooking up the latest for tomorrow. Being the practiced eavesdropper she was Jezibell caught bits of their whispers.

"Who does she think she is -?"

"And Ron Weasley too, I can't believe -"

"But so was Diggory -"

"Mmmm… you don't suppose – ?"

"Not in seven million years would he –"

"She needs to pick a side and stay there. Trying to play both doesn't help at all -"

"Was Harry there, maybe - ?"

"It's that hairband, I tell you. Even Hermione now -"

"Soooo strange -"

"Still talks to her cat -"

If Jezibell was not subjected to similar, if worse, mutterings all of last year, these new ones may have done some damage. But she had, and they didn't. It was actually hilarious what the girls were choosing to talk about, amusing to listen in on what they came up with here that would soon become known fact around the school, comedy that Patil and Brown told anyone who would listen what happened in the Chamber of Secrets though they had never asked Jezibell herself about it. Jezibell didn't care. She tapped the mattress where Emmy sat; reprimanding the cat was who was working herself into a snarl. Hermione (who had until last June took part in the nightly speculations) noticed the new developments and turned to Jezibell, curious.

"What did you do this time?"

Hermione was probably the only person in the school still ignorant to the recent horror of Jezibell Malfoy. It happened at the Sorting, Hermione and Harry had been called away by Professor McGonagall so they missed it. Ron was the only person sitting next to (across from, actually. Comfort levels weren't quite stable enough to allow side by side) Jezibell and even he wasn't quite sure why she did what she had done. They watched several students being sorted. A Hufflepuff, two Ravenclaws and a Gryffindor. The houses clapped merrily for each one, the Slytherins not so much for the Gryffindor, but Jezibell wasn't taking notes on the other side of the hall. Then they got their first Slytherin.

She was a tiny thing, blond and pretty. Had a striped bow on the side of her head and smiled shyly when her name was called. Jezibell knew her as an uninvited guest at one of Draco's birthday parties. A bawling six year old her elder sister Daphne was made to drag along that got nipped by a peacock and given three times as much ice cream as the rest of the kids to calm her down. Greengrass, Astoria rocked in petite steps to the Sorting Hat and it slipped over her eyes, covering most of the creamy curls.

"Slytherin!"

Predictable; the Greengrasses were pureblood and near exclusively Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Daphne, Draco and the long table of silver and green cheered for their new member proudly. But when Greengrass took off the hat she saw what the Gryffindors were doing. They booed and they hissed. The Weasley twins sniped at her some ugly words and a few hand gestures cropped up from the seventh year, all aimed at the pale shivering stranger before them. They didn't even know her and they already hated her. And she realized: this is where it starts. The red ones snarl, the green ones grin, and now and forever little Astoria knows who is right and who is wrong. Jezibell would always be wrong. But she couldn't let it be. Because in that terrified blond eleven-year-old she saw herself. On her own Sorting day, when no one clapped and the black year that followed. So Jezibell raised both her hands and amidst the jeers and catcalls, she started a solitary applause.

The whole right side of Gryffindor table fell quiet as they noticed the small positive beat on their section of the hall. The Slytherins faltered upon seeing Jezibell joined them, but they didn't stop. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, who normally sided with Gryffindor in house disputes, didn't know what to make of her either and they kept a neutral silence. Jezibell ignored any reactions and kept her eyes on Greengrass. If anything the girl looked even more frightened of the foreigner praising her. A few seconds in, Jezibell got a small dig to her side. It was Ron.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he muttered in undertone, afraid of being caught talking to the crazy witch who was giving an encore to a Slytherin.

Jezibell remembered her response, "Showing my moral support."

For a moment he stared at her like he might turn away in embarrassment. Then a second smattering joined her, tentative and off beat, but there. A few more hopped in for seconds, and then fizzled out as dud fireworks. But they came from the red table. The Hufflepuffs were the first to really take up the mantle, a tall Prefect started loudly and after him many more of that house along with several Ravenclaws joined in the applause. Creevey might have clicked his camera a few times.

"Yeah!" called Ron, getting caught up in the escalating encore, "Go - ?"

"Greengrass," muttered Jezibell.

"Yeah, go Greengrass!"

Greengrass looked faint as she took the seat cleared next to her sister and ogled at Jezibell with pale blue eyes. She was plainly terrified, but a small little girl smile tugged at her mouth and Jezibell knew she did the right thing. She, Ron and the few persevering Hufflepuffs cheered for the rest of the Slytherins too and while applauding Steinbeck, Brian, Jezibell sneaked a glance at the staff table. Some of the teachers looked worried – Snape was stone monument to a variety of hostile emotions - but Dumbledore was smiling and clapping along with her. Proof the headmaster was insane.

But Jezibell knew why she did it. Miss Greengrass and her classmates needed all the support they could get for the year they were headed. Slytherin housed the most shunted kids in the school. They didn't need friends and used the ones they had so it was natural the other morally sound scholars would avoid them. They were ambitious, even amongst themselves. Like a nest of birds all scrambling for Mommy's food. Survival of the fittest. Even with a sibling ready to give her a leg-up in the social ranks, Greengrass was going to have to battle for her supper. In clapping, Jezibell wanted the first year Slytherins to know that she respected their situation and understood how it feels to be at the bottom of the food chain.

But how was she supposed to tell her actions to Hermione, sitting before her now with wide inquisitive eyes, waiting? And the rest of the school, should she let them make up their own minds via Patil and Brown like last year?

"They saw me talking to Emmy again."

Hermione nodded at the logical explanation and Jezibell felt no shame in the cover up. Her roommate would know soon enough what was really going on.

Hermione finished the precise stacking her books and moved on to setting out her robes for tomorrow. Watching her obsessive-compulsive tendencies, Jezibell felt obligated to do the same as she unloaded her belongings. They worked in silence, pricking ears to the conversation on the left and making note of the other's possessions. At one point Hermione pulled out a squishy plastic bottle of something foreign (it read _Spare Mint _across the side in warped green lettering) and more than once Jezibell caught Hermione staring at her tasseled bookmark collection. While undressing for bed, Hermione tried once again for conversation, "So what did you think of the train ride? That Dementor was so scary, I'm glad they're on our side."

Jezibell wanted to tell her not to be too sure on that assumption, but she didn't think calling out Hermione's naiveté would help. It was irritating, trying to talk. There was so much she couldn't say.

Mother once explained that the Dementors used to be on 'their side', but when He fell the ministry took the opportunity to make friends. Now, as long as you stay with the law, they'll be your friends too. Jezibell once believed this assessment, but no longer. A few days after her expulsion from Durmstrang, her father had to go to Azkaban on a business trip of some sort and he took Jezibell along to see what happens when you don't do as the Romans do. There was no discretion, no sense of justice to their treatment of the prisoners. They actually seemed to prefer the saner ones because how do you drain happiness from someone who takes pleasure from suffering? It doesn't work. Dementors weren't on anybody's side any more than a cat is when you point it at a rat.

The Dementor on the train didn't feel as bad as the awful island did, but it was horrible enough. When it floated through the door, for one irrational moment Jezibell thought it had mistaken her for the cousin and was going to take her instead. The compartment had been squished already with six people, so they were all in much closer proximity to the Dementor then advisable. Harry sustained the worse. He collapsed in a seizure-like fit on the floor and mumbled about somebody screaming afterword. He was sent to the hospital wing for it and probably beating himself up in the boys' dormitory for his moment of weakness now.

As far as Jezibell knew no one had cried out, but there were a few casualties. Neville had been crammed next to her on the seat and when the Dementor passed them he dug his fingernails into her knee. Jezibell didn't notice this at the time, only to discover the claw marks when she changed into her school robes. She hadn't a clue what Harry or Neville saw to make them react this way, and for this she was grateful. It meant they couldn't tell what the Dementor dragged up from the back of _her_ mind either.

They undressed for bed; Hermione pulled off the gray jumper and slipped in her nightgown in record time. Before the pink cloth could cover it, a long gold chain swung into view from around her neck.

"Birthday gift?" Jezibell set down her bottle of tooth cleansing potion and stared pointedly at the finely wrought necklace that Hermione was hurriedly stuffing under her collar.

Hermione gave a small squeak, "It's nothing!"

Nothing. Right. These people had so much to learn.

"Let me see it. It can't be worse than any of my mother's."

It _would_ be quite difficult for Hermione to be in possession of something worse than a pair of 'special' earrings that if worn by the wrong person leeched their knowledge of magic and induced insanity.

Hermione stared at her for a second, caught, and then slowly extracted the bauble at the end of the necklace. She tugged the curtains on her four-poster to block out Patil and Brown. Jezibell muttered "_hairbrush_" to Emmy and the familiar disappeared to the other side of the dormitory. Hermione held the ornament in her palm for Jezibell to see. What Jezibell had taken to be a jewel was an hourglass carved of silver that hung in a small rotating disk. Minute words in Latin ran around the edge of the cylinder and the hourglass bulb was filled with swirling diamond dust.

"It's a Time-Turner" Hermione whispered, "When Professor McGonagall took me to her office before the Sorting, she gave it to me. It's how I'll be getting to all my new classes this year. By turning back the clock an hour, I can be in two places at once."

Jezibell ran her thumb over the smooth surface of the hourglass, marveling Hermione's privilege.

"It's all strictly supervised, though. The Ministry let Professor McGonagall give me one to use for lessons only and-" Hermione's voice trembled slightly at this point, "I wasn't supposed to tell anybody, but now you've found out."

She withdrew her hand and put the Time-Turned back in place, "You have to promise you won't say a word, not even to Harry and Ron. Swear?"

"I promise," said Jezibell.

"Malfoy!" yelled Patil, "Your demon cat's barfing on my hairbrush!"

* * *

_Great Hall, September Second_

"I still don't see how you're going to pull this off."

Jezibell, Hermione, Harry and Ron were among the few students still examining their new schedules in the Great Hall. According to Hermione's, she was supposed to be in Divination and Muggle Studies simultaneously and have Ancient Runes with Charms this afternoon. _Professor _Hagrid came by with a bloody bag of dead mammals for the third year class and the boys speculated on what the subject would be. Apparently, they were experienced with Hagrid's less than harmless pets and their conversation provided a cover for Jezibell to consult with Hermione about the impossible schedule.

"I have it all planned out," muttered Hermione, "There's a bathroom off the dividing corridor for the first two classes. I'll say I have to use it, but really be walking with you. If I time it right, the other me will appear a few minutes after I say I'm going in.

Jezibell thought the explanation back over in her head and nodded, "What do you tell Harry and Ron? They know you take Muggle Studies."

"I'll distract them or something, it won't be a problem. Any other questions?"

"One. If I hadn't found out, what was plan A?"

"I was relying on your apathy to anything but your personal concerns to override natural curiosity," Hermione shrugged her pack-mule bag over her shoulder, "Which was evidently an underestimate on both counts."

"Live and learn," Jezibell quipped, not bothering to determine whether or not Hermione's comment had compliment in it. The quartet gathered up their things and made for the main hallway for the lessons when a small voice called "Hi!" from the other end of the hall. Jezibell ignored it, naturally as it sounded like a first year, but Harry looked over and saw.

"Who's that waving at us?"

Astoria Greengrass with a few of her first year Slytherin friends was indeed waving at their group and, more specifically, Jezibell.

"Probably some first year who wants your autograph," Jezibell hoped Harry wouldn't notice the green trim on Greengrass's robes and the unlikelihood of a Slytherin wanting anything friendly.

"We should keep moving then," said Harry uncomfortably, eager to avoid his fan club as Jezibell was. Crisis averted, she smiled inwardly and moved on to the adjacent hall.

The boys chatted casually on the way and once or twice Ron asked Hermione about her schedule plans, but Hermione blew him off. When they reached the point where the route to Muggle Studies branched off, Jezibell said her brief farewell.

"Enjoy the trip."

"To where?" said Harry, confused. They had no idea what they in for. Odd barely covered the personality required in a Seer. Jezibell barely contained a smirk.

"It will be revealed in the not too distant future, I can See that much."

Jezibell turned the corner, walked a few paces then stopped and listened to what Hermione was telling Harry and Ron.

"Oh, wait," said Hermione, "we've got a few minutes. I need to use the loo, there's one right around the corner."

"Alright," conceded Ron, "We'll wait for you."

Hermione came around, murmured "Just keep walking" and Jezibell fell into pace next to her. They passed by the alleged lavatory and Jezibell looked over her shoulder, hoping to see the Other Hermione coming out of the bathroom.

"Don't," hissed Hermione, "I'm not supposed to be seen. Quick, what's the exact time?"

Jezibell checked her wristwatch, "8:54,"

"8:54," Hermione repeated to herself a few times. The door to the lavatory opened behind them and, though Jezibell dutifully restrained from peeking, she suspected it was the Hermione of The Future. Freaky. It was as though Jezibell was inside one of her magic-fiction novels.

Thinking of them, Jezibell asked Hermione how the Time-Turner kept paradoxes from happening. Because if that was the Other her that left the lavatory, then what would happen if Hermione just now decided _not _to go back in time? Would there be two Hermiones now going about Hogwarts, or would the other one disappear? Hermione told her that was why the Other Hermione couldn't be seen. As long as no one noticed the time warp, the paradoxes couldn't happen. The Hermione you think you heard would turn out to be just another student and there would be no paradox. But what would happen if she _did_ catch a glimpse of the Other Hermione and then the future was changed somehow? At this point the real non hypothetical Hermione demanded she stop talking like that. The Time-Turner works fine without paradoxes, there was no point in torturing themselves as to why.

The Muggle Studies room was on the ground floor and Hermione and Jezibell were the first ones there, but more classmates started arriving quickly enough. The room was much like any other classroom; desks in rows, blackboard, ceiling with chewing gum stuck to it(how it got up there is one of the mysteries of Hogwarts), four walls and a door. But there were several muggle thingamagummies dotting the room and a great collection of plastic whatchamacallits in the back. Over the blackboard was a blank canvass and in front of it a shiny metal box with a periscopic rod sticking up on the top. Next to the podium was a model of something on a stand. A car, perhaps. But cars weren't shaped like cones, Jezibell was pretty sure. And it had no wheels. There were other models of presumably muggle inventions on the Professor's desk. Jezibell came very close to asking Hermione what they were, but was interested in how the teacher would present them.

Hermione took a seat at the front and Jezibell the one next to her, setting a clear precedent. Other students filed in; a gaggle of Ravenclaws, a few Hufflepuffs and a single Slytherin. There were no other Gryffindors. Ravenclaws were up front with Hermione, Hufflepuffs sat in the rows behind them and the Slytherin (who Jezibell now recognized as Theodore Nott) slouched in the back. The teacher, Professor Burbage so the black board told them, was younger than most, in her mid-thirties. She had brown-blond streaked hair and was smiling. She was pureblood but was outcast from the other old families due to her area of expertise. Father complained frequently to the school board about how Charity Burbage was 'polluting the minds of our youth with mud-riddled lies'. His claims did not manage to sack Burbage as hoped, but the school board gave up funds for the Muggle Studies class so the books were on their fourth year and money for supplies came out of Burbage's pocket.

Once the last Hufflepuffs had settled down, Professor Burbage took attendance. She called them all by their first names which was a bit different.

"Hannah,"

Pig-tailed Hufflepuff, here.

"Susan,"

Another braided Hufflepuff, also here.

"Terry,"

One of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, here.

"Mandy,"

Ravenclaw flock member, here.

Jezibell wondered if Burbage would recognize the surname on her mark.

"Hermione,"

"Here," said Hermione and the professor gave her a big warm smile. It would appear that word got out there was a muggle-born their midst. Michael and Anthony Ravenclaw were here, along with Ernie Hufflepuff who was pompously present.

"Jezibell," Professor Burbage called, the smile pursing sourly on the last syllable. She knew the Malfoys.

"Here," said Jezibell as dully as she could. Burbage gave her a I'm-watching-your-every-movelook, a tone that was not lightened when Theodore Nott grunted his presence. After Lisa Ravenclaw was proclaimed here, Professor Burbage set down the attendance list and the first lesson of Muggle Studies began.

"Now," said the Professor brightly, "As some of you may know by the blackboard, my name is Charity Burbage and this is Muggle Studies. Another thing you may know is that I have a very distinct opinion on Muggles. I'm sure most of you do too. I will not be trying to impress my opinion onto yours. You are perfectly free to make up your own minds in my class. This year, you may find out a great deal more than my name and what you are studying, but I can only bring the horse to water. What you learn this year is entirely up to you."

"So we don't have to do homework if we don't want?" called out Michael Ravenclaw.

"Nice try, but no. What I mean by this is that I encourage you to think beyond what you may have been taught beforehand and understand that there are two sides to every fact. Sometimes more. And which side you take should not be limited by what opinions have been made available to you in your lives so far. For instance, Theodore is of the opinion that paper planes can only be made one way."

All eyes went to back of the classroom to Nott, who was folding a small fleet. When he noticed the impromptu spotlight Theodore scowled and squashed his armada with his elbows, flipping the hood of his robe over his head. Jezibell couldn't help but be curious at the situation. What was Theodore Son-of-a-Death-Eater Nott doing here, in _Muggle Studies_?

"No, they're fine," Burbage walked down the aisle and picked up one that had fallen to the floor and held it expertly between thumb and forefinger, "If a bit old fashioned. It'll fly, certainly."

She flicked the plane and it curved right and nosedived onto Michael's desk. It was pretty pathetic as a projectile and the class shared a chuckle.

"But maybe a change of method is in order," More laughter. Theodore's hood wasn't so amused.

Michael looked at the aircraft critically, "It's not that difficult to fix, really. The right wing was made lopsided, so there's more weight to that side. To balance it all it needs is to be evened out. If I fold up a corner of the wing on the left it will create resistance to that side and the plane should level. Like this."

He launched it and the plane arched magnificently. It kissed the ceiling, hit a wad of blue gum and flubbed comically to the floor. Everyone laughed, even Theodore smirking some.

"So perhaps we could all use some new ideas. Thank you, Theodore and Michael," Burbage returned to the podium, "Now, my class is not hard. I am not a nasty homework nagging teacher. We do fun projects in here and the exams are fairly easy to pass. All this class requires from you is open mind and acceptance that not everyone thinks the way you do."

Burbage walked over to the metal contraption and flicked a button on it. It blazed to life, florescent light shown thought the clear plastic covering its lid and a large square lit up the white tarp on the board.

"This is an overhead projector. It is becoming popular in muggle schools for teaching, much the way we use the blackboard only more versatile. It normally runs on the science of Electricity, but I have used magic to make it operate here because the Machinery would short-circuit in Hogwarts."

It was the freakiest looking doohicky Jezibell had ever seen. Wasn't the electricity what caused most muggle fires and electrocution deaths? Muggles made technology for easier living and ended up hurting themselves and the earth in the process. Right, new perspectives. Professor Burbage took a transparent sheet of yet more plastic (muggles sure loved the stuff) and laid it on the overhead projector. Little bits of dust and hair appeared on the large screen and some of the Ravenclaws drew breath in surprise. Burbage took out a purple marker and wrote on the overhead projector. Her words were magnified on the board and she wrote them, her hand a dark blotch on the screen.

**WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT MUGGLES**

"Before we learn anything this year, let's start with what we already know. This is not difficult, I'm sure you can all think of plenty of things to say regarding muggles. For instance, you should all know right now that muggles use overhead projectors in their schools," Burbage bent over the projector again and wrote.

**Muggles use overhead projectors.**

"Each of you will come up to the overhead projector and write one thing you know without a doubt to be true about muggles. You can write anything, I don't care. As long as you would be perfectly willing to show it to Professor McGonagall, it is not something somebody else wrote and you believe it to be fact. You will not be graded for this but will be credited for participation."

They were actually going to have to go up and use the electricity projector? Father's head would explode if he knew. When was it her turn?

Hermione whispered to her and said this was way too easy. She had overhead projectors at her old school and there were a million and one things to say about muggles. Jezibell nodded silently wondering what she herself knew, _really knew, _about muggles. She wasn't alone here, the rest of the class was racking their brains behinds her. What did they know besides the overhead projectors? Not much. That is why they were here. It went in alphabetical order (Burbage hadn't time to think up another system), so Pig-tailed Hannah was first. When she came up to the overhead projector, marker in hand, she looked into the artificial light and asked, "But Professor, won't it burn?"

"The plastic covering protects you, see," Burbage came up and placed her hand flat on the screen. Another mucky shadow blurred the board, "completely safe!"

Hannah was still puzzled, "But where's the ink?" She held up the little capsule labeled _SuperSketch_. The Professor told her that the marker contained its own ink and didn't need to be refilled. The class exchanged glances at this new wonder. Maybe these muggles were onto something. Jezibell wasn't so impressed. She'd heard of muggle quills that supposedly never ran out of ink. Actually they did go dry, after awhile, and once that happened the container was rendered useless. Off to the landfills it goes, polluting oceans, valleys or wherever else the muggles decide to dump their gunk. Muggles had no sense of perspective. Jezibell considered using that as her fact, but she thought better of it. Hannah bent over the overhead projector to write her fact.

**Muggles can't use magic.**

There were a few groans from the Ravenclaws; she'd taken their answer. Hannah handed the marker to Susan Hufflepuff, who wrote without complaint.

**Muggles used to burn us, but don't anymore**

"Well, she's right," said Hermione, answering Jezibell's unspoken question, "They did conduct witch-hunts, but stopped a few hundred years ago. It's a perfectly unbiased fact."

Professor Burbage seemed to think the same. She didn't interject in any case. Terry Ravenclaw was next at the projector.

**Muggles use Eliktrisitie.**

Again, Burbage was silent if containing laughter. Even Jezibell knew how to spell Electricity. Mandy Ravenclaw bumped the periscope-thingy on her way up and the words on the board were jostled around so the projector was aimed at the ceiling. One of the pieces of fossilized chewing gum was under the 'u' in muggles. Professor Burbage said don't worry, these things can happen and proceeded to readjust the periscope. Jezibell wondered if all this muggle magic was really worth the trouble. Burbage made her point already with the paper planes. Couldn't they just use the blackboard? Theodore said something unclear from the back and earned himself a superior glare from Ernie Hufflepuff. Once the projector was situated Mandy wrote hers.

**Muggle things are clever, but easy to upset**

Mandy herself was deemed clever by the Ravenclaw flock; they clapped a bit when she went to sit down. Michael Ravenclaw came up.

**They are easily fooled**

Too true. Hermione came next. She took the marker up to the overhead projector to divulge one of her many secrets of muggles.

**Muggle Science is advancing such that it is possible it may surpass our own capabilities in Magic.**

This wasn't news. Jezibell had read that line before in her Muggle Studies text book. It was the part about muggles and how they are becoming more like wizards in what they can do. She bet Hermione could tell which paragraph it was in. This enforced the idea that Hermione Granger wasn't here to learn but to show off. Professor Burbage seemed disappointed; her mouth drooped just a bit to the side. Anthony Ravenclaw came next and he seemed determined to have more memory power than Hermione.

**In Muggle literature, Wizarding people are often portrayed as vilainious elders.**

He didn't succeed, spelled villainous wrong. But kudos for adding a period. It was getting close to Jezibell's turn, and she still hadn't thought of a good enough answer that wouldn't upset Burbage. What she 'knew' about muggles was that they were stupid, lazy, pathetic, pig-like mortals who wallowed in mud with their worthless paper money, waged primitive war with each other and nursed a long time grudge against our superior race. Ernie was writing now.

**Muggles have brilliant minds to come up with incredible technology.**

Ernie hand the purple _SuperSketch _to Jezibell with much more solemnity than was required, and she walked up to the overhead projector. At a few feet away, Jezibell noticed a low hum vibrating from the machine, like a sleeping animal. The light of the projector was very bright if not hot which was strange, and Jezibell found it difficult to look into the brightness for long. A funny staticky smell was hovering over the top and Jezibell reread the other phrases in purple ink on the plastic paper. Then she remembered one thing her father told that was true.

**They fear us**

Jezibell looked up at Charity Burbage who was staring back at her and, again, she didn't speak. Jezibell had to make a bit of a trek to the back of the classroom and hand off the _Supersketch _to Theodore. The other students gazed at her passing like she was a particularly interesting specimen of the Malfoy species. Fascinating. Theodore grabbed the marker from her with a scowl and slouched to the board. His hand-writing was rather sloppy, but they could all read it.

**ignorant bastards**

The Hufflepuffs gasped. Hermione looked like she might cry. The Ravenclaws tittered. Jezibell realized she'd forgotten the period in her sentence, oops. Theodore slammed the marker down on Lisa Ravenclaw's desk and Burbage's impassive face tightened, "Theodore, I would like you to see me after class," Nott's stringy hair flopped over his face and he shrugged himself deeper in the desk, "Go on, Lisa."

Lisa came up and wrote hers in neat lettering.

**Muggles are human, too. **

She remembered a period. As she handed the marker to Burbage and returned to her seat. The professor recaptured the podium.

"Now, I know this may not look like much to go forth with in our education, but I see it as a very good start. There are plenty of opinions and ideas bouncing around this classroom and they are nothing to be afraid of. At the end of the year we will try this again and see if you've found out anything new about muggles. Maybe some of your opinions will change, maybe not. In any case, I would now like to show you something else."

Burbage took the class's knowledge of muggles off the projector and placed a different slide on the screen. This one had a picture on it of something that reminded Jezibell of the cone-car on the Burbage's desk. It was immobile, monochromatic and much of the photo was obscured by smoke coming from the bottom of the object.

"What is that?" murmured Mandy to Lisa.

"Is it a bomb?" Terry inquired.

"Of course it's not a bomb," Anthony rolled his eyes, a brave imitation of Hermione's trademark look, "Bombs look like mushrooms."

"Perhaps Hermione can tell us what this invention is," suggested Burbage over the chatter, effectively making the room fall quiet to look inquisitively at Hermione.

"It's a rocket ship," She said, slightly in awe, "One of the Apollos, probably numbers 11 or 13. They're an American creation and run on the Law of Conservation of Momentum – that's physics – which is why the fuel in the engine ignites the way it does to create an enormous amount of energy to propel it upward. That's where all the smoke comes from. I don't even understand how it works exactly, but I know they are used for short trips to orbit around the earth and the moon."

Somebody coughed. It was Ernie.

"I'm sorry," he said with an unnecessary touch of sarcasm, "But did you say a Greek god flies American people to the moon?"

There were mutters of assent from other students in the classroom and Hermione turned red in realization that what she said made no sense. Or so Jezibell assumed...

"Apollo is the _name_ the Americans gave to the space craft." She continued hotly, "They wanted to name it after the god associated with the moon, though they evidently failed some critical research because it should have been Selene or Artemis. But, yes, it does fly people to the moon; they even put evidence up there. Radio waves that can transmit back to earth and –"

"Yes, Hermione is completely right," interrupted Burbage gently, "But I'm not going to spend a whole period trying to get you to understand rocket science. Not yet, anyways. I just want you to think about the concepts here. Muggles have been to the moon. This is more than any wizard has done more than dream about."

The rest of the class was spent listening to the Ravenclaws and Ernie ask various questions regarding the rocket, the overhead and if bombs really did look like mushrooms. Jezibell paid attention, even when Hermione overtook the podium and started answering more than Burbage. Most of her explanations inspired many more challenges and class started to turn into a contest to find something Hermione didn't know. Theodore refused to participate any further, sleeping in the back with rather obvious snore. Too obvious. If Jezibell knew the Slytherin mentality, he was listening, making notes for later reference like she was.

The bell rang while Michael was presenting his theory on why projectors were still lesser than blackboards. Professor Burbage waved them out of the classroom, but caught Theodore before he could escape. Jezibell helped Hermione gather her books - she had twice as many as the other students and was still answering questions about mushroom cloud effect. They left Muggle Studies with her still in monologue, going on about the Cold War and the Arms Race. Jezibell half listened and half wondered who made the mistake of twisting Theodore's arm to get him into Muggle Studies.

They were a little ways down the corridor when Jezibell recalled the second part of the morning.

"Hermione, do you know the time?"

Hermione looked up in a start, "No, what is it?"

"9:52; you have two minutes."

Hermione figured the Time-Turner necklace, "Good, the bathroom's just ahead."

They speed walked to the lavatory in time. Around the corner, Jezibell could hear Harry, Ron and hopefully Hermione coming back from Divination. The boys turned it just as Hermione closed the bathroom door and Jezibell took note of their friends' slightly spooked expressions.

"Wonder what happened to them," She muttered. Hermione shrugged, taking out the Time-Turner.

"I don't know," She turned the hourglass over once, "I'll find out in a minute."

Hermione vanished just as she came around the turn, teasing Harry about something. Jezibell opened the door of the bathroom.

"Hey, Jezibell," grinned Harry, though it looked forced, "How was Muggle Studies?

"We learned how not to make paper planes," Jezibell slowed down to fall into step beside him and Ron, "But shouldn't you have_ Seen_ that already?

Ron laughed, weaker than usual. What was up with them?

"Now I get what you were going on about before class. Seeing-wise I think we have a ways to go. We're starting with tea leaves. It all looked like squashy dregs to me, but apparently Professor Trelawney saw some future stuff," Ron cast a reassuring glance at Harry, "Probably nothing worth worrying about."

There it was again, that 'nothing' of poor liars. Did they really think she wouldn't notice? Harry picked up the subject.

"The Divination Professor is really strange," He seemed rather uncomfortable, Jezibell guessed the subject of the Dementor had come up. Ron asked for details on Muggle Studies so he could send a letter to his dad about how the class had changed since he attended it. She understood it was a method to change the subject and that was fine with her. Sooner or later, she'd find out what happened at the North Tower. Jezibell had fun tormenting Hermione by lying shamelessly about the class, using the overhead projector as her single grain of truth. This was useful as Harry too had experienced its wonders at his muggle elementary school. While he filled Ron in, Hermione whispered to Jezibell.

"You are insufferable," She accused.

"I try."

"But it worked," Hermione was quite smug on this.

"Sure," Jezibell wasn't entirely convinced that the Time-Turner was a good lesson plan, "What did you tell Harry and Ron?"

"I didn't, that's the point, isn't it?"

"You can't hide it forever."

"I don't have to hide it forever. Just until seventh year."

Jezibell didn't respond. If Hermione thought she could be supergirl and do everything thing at once, then fine. Let her test her limits. Maybe she _was _good enough at school take every subject. And if not, she could always give the Time-Turner back. Jezibell didn't know her friend very well but she figured five more years of this would drive anyone insane. After all, Hermione was only human.

Next on the schedule was Transfiguration. When they entered the classroom, Jezibell shadowed the trio as a tentative ghost. They passed the abandoned seat at the back that had been reserved as hers, settling in the front, Jezibell next to Harry next to Ron next to Hermione. Professor McGonagall saw the new development in relationships and cast her eyes around the room, narrowing them upon meeting Jezibell's who stared coolly back. McGonagall gave her a similar if sharper look as the one Charity Burbage did. I got my eye on you, Malfoy.

McGonagall took attendance, surnames as usual, and made introductions to what they would be studying this semester: Animagi.

"An Animagus," said McGonagall "is a witch or wizard who can transform into an animal upon command. It takes years of practice, but if you are willing to put in the effort, a wand will not be necessary to make the change. Like so."

And with that, the Transfiguration teacher vanished to be replaced by a tabby cat with square markings on its eyes.

It was quite a good show. Jezibell was paying close attention and didn't see McGonagall take out her wand for the demonstration at all. However, the rest of the class wasn't so impressed. They sat silent, staring at the blackboard where the professor's head had been. Jezibell watched a fly buzz through the room and around Harry's head. He didn't blink.

McGonagall-cat noticed the zombie-like behavior of her class and she resumed human form as to question them better.

"Really, what has gotten into you all today?" she did a sweep of the blank faces belonging to the Gryffindor third year. The fly landed freely on Harry's shoulder and Jezibell stuck him sharply with her quill, which brought him to reality with a start. "Not that it matters, but this is the first time my transformation hasn't gotten an applause from the class."

As if on cue, every head on the student body turned to look a Harry who, having traveled back from La La Land via Jezibell's quill, sank a little lower in his desk. Jezibell figured what was going on.

"Professor," Jezibell spoke to McGonagall, "they had their first Divination class -"

"Of course," McGonagall's hard expression shifted into something less recognizable, "Say no more, Miss Malfoy. Tell me, which one of you will be dying this year?"

Jezibell identified the mystery emotion: Sarcasm.

The class stared at her in surprise for a second before Harry spoke up.

"Me."

Of _course_. Jezibell should have known. The Divination Professor may never come down from her tower, but she seemed up to date with current events and singled out Harry for increased accuracy. What with Sirius after him and his track record, there was an off chance this year would be his last.

McGonagall instructed Harry not to worry. Sybil Trelawney predicted the death of a student every year for 14 years as a way of greeting class. All her Objects were currently in good health. Divination is a very imprecise brand of magic and True Seers are very rare (entirely sane Seers even rarer). Minerva McGonagall herself did not hold faith in such things. She said Harry looked fine to her, but if he dropped dead by tomorrow he need not hand in his homework.

Harry seemed more or less reassured by the tight-lipped joke. Hermione laughed, but she was the only one that did. The rest of the class muttered nervously and Brown whispered, "But what about Neville's cup?"

McGonagall resumed her talk about the Ministry's regulations for Animagi and the fly whizzed away. Class ended on a brisk note, homework for tonight was to write a paragraph on why Animagi need to be acknowledged by Ministry, to which Ron was heard to groan. Jezibell prepared to leave the classroom with Harry, Ron and Hermione, but the professor stopped her before she reached the door.

"Tell me, Miss Malfoy, are you taking Divination?"

"Tell me, Professor, do you take me for a sheep?"

McGonagall gave her an intelligent smile, "No, Miss Malfoy, not a sheep. I take you for many things, but easily shepherded is not one of them. I venture if the majority of your peers chose Arithmancy as their new class, you would take Divination instead. But perhaps this contrary behavior is beneficial and, as unlikely as it seems, you will provide the source of reason this year."

"That's me, the good Shepherd," Jezibell replied dryly. McGonagall appeared to be overestimating Jezibell's influence on the third year. Her social status may have climbed some since second, but she had a long way to go before universal respect was within her grasp.

Lunch was noisy and excitable as usual. The one change was, again, the seating arrangement. The end of the table were Jezibell normally had her daily dose of ostracism was filled up with first years, so instead she took the seat between Harry and Hermione.

"So the death omen slipped your mind," Jezibell picked an apple from the fruit bowl, "Anything else that might've?"

"Well, you know how Trelawney's room is in the North Tower," Ron ladled some beef stew onto his plate, "She's got this fireplace burning incense and stuff so it was kind of hard to concentrate 'cause of the smell."

Ron started on his stew so Harry picked up, "It's stuffy and cramped. The North Tower classroom is small and round, and Trelawney's got all these little chairs and foot cushions piled everywhere. The Professor herself is a hard to understand, kept going on about the Inner Eye and the visions she gets up there."

Harry paused to drink from his goblet, his own plate empty. Imminent doom must take away your appetite.

"Though if she really never does come down from that fuchsia cloud of potions, it's a wonder she can See straight," Hermione scooped lettuce and tomatoes onto her plate.

"You know, that's probably what those buggy glasses are for," Ron helped himself to potato, not getting the pun, "Anyway, before handing out the tea cups Trelawney made a whole bunch of little predictions. There was something about Neville's Gran -"

"She told him not to be too sure that she was well," Hermione interrupted from her salad, "That's not so much of a foresight as a guess."

Harry broke in before Ron could retaliate, "She told Parvati to 'beware of redheads'. Parvati thought she meant Ron, she shifted where she was sitting -"

"- And she told Lavender the thing she dreaded would happen Friday, the sixteenth of October," Hermione sounded very skeptical of this, "She just pulled that date on random. If anything happens to Lavender on Friday the sixteenth, it will be the prophecy fulfilled."

"What about Neville's cup, then?" demanded Ron.

"You tell me," said Jezibell taking a bite of her apple, "What about Neville's cup?"

"It was right before Neville got up to get his tea cup," said Harry, "Trelawney came over and told him that after his first cup broke he should a take a pink one -"

"No, a blue one," interjected Hermione, "Trelawney said she likes the pink."

"Whatever," Ron rolled his eyes, "The _blue_ one. He took the cup and then maybe five seconds later smashed it tripping on a little pouf."

Jezibell set down the fruit, "That's not real Seeing. Trelawney must have been paying attention as you came in. Neville is clumsy. He probably tripped once or twice by the time she started introductions; the room was covered in seat cushions. Delicate china, Neville, a room that is an obstacle course; it would be incredible if Trelawney predicted he _wouldn't_ break the cup and then he didn't and even that would have been a placebo effect."

They just stared at her, Ron with a mouthful of beef and carrots, like she'd animagused into a large anaconda. Ron swallowed and turned away from her to Harry to ask him about a large black dog.

"Wait, do you mean the Grim?"

"Oh no, not you too!" groaned Hermione, "That bit of tea dregs didn't look like anything but a mucky splotch. You are all so gullible to think that meant anything important!"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hermione," Ron answered hotly, and Jezibell got the idea this wasn't a new dispute, "Grims scare the living daylight out of most wizards!"

"There you are then. They see the Grim and they die of fright. The Grim isn't an omen; it's the cause of the death. Harry's still with us because he isn't stupid enough to see one and think 'Right, well I'd better kick the bucket then'."

"Death by creep factor? Guess I'm a weapon of mass destruction," Jezibell remarked at Hermione's brand of logic. She knew she was feeding their flames, but couldn't resist goading the nonsense.

"Yes, I mean, no. Look, it's all a lot of guesswork, that's it - just vague statements and woolly interpretations of tea leaves!"

"There was nothing woolly about the Grim in that cup!" Ron exclaimed.

"You didn't seem quite so confident when telling Harry it was a sheep."

"Trelawney said you didn't have the right aura," Ron asserted, "You just don't like being bad at something for a change!"

Bull's eye. Hermione stood up with her load of books for impossible classes, "If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see Grims in tea cups, I might not be doing much longer. Even my Muggle Studies class is more useful than this!"

Hermione stormed out of the Great Hall, heading to the library probably, and halfway up the stairs, several of the books toppled from her overfilled bag. She picked them up with dignity and continued her route, ignoring the snickers from Slytherin.

"What was she talking about? She hasn't been to Muggle Studies yet," Ron looked to Jezibell as if he wasn't too sure, "Has she?"

Jezibell shook her head gravely. This was her cue, "Of course not, she'd have to be in two places at once."

Ron seemed appeased by this and Harry didn't find anything odd about Hermione's aside either. Jezibell was rethinking her assumption the Hermione wouldn't be able to hide the Time-Turner forever. These two wouldn't notice if she danced on the house tables in her nightgown and sang the story for all to hear.

"So, the Grim," Jezibell continued, determined to have the whole story down before lunch ended, "I agree with Hermione. If it was just tea leaves, the interpretation's subjective."

"I don't know," said Ron looking worried. He pushed away his stew, "My Uncle Bilius saw one and he died twenty four hours later. You haven't seen a great black dog anywhere, have you, Harry?"

"Yeah, I have. Saw one the night I left the Dursley's."

Ron looked at Jezibell anxiously and it took her a second to figure out this was the part where they were supposed to exchange a worried glance. She caught on too slow though, and Ron had already turned away by the time she'd gotten the right expression for it. Better luck next time.

"That's bad, Harry" he said in a low voice, "that's real bad..."

Very baaahd indeed. Yes, an actual Grim was a lot worse than leftover tea leaves, but in the light Hermione put it in, Jezibell couldn't help but feel more flippant about her learned superstitions. Burbage told her not an hour ago that individual perception mattered and McGonagall said she should hold herself above her classmates, keep her head on straight while they lost theirs over this Divination madness. She could work with that.

Ron did not continue to interrogate Harry about the Grim, and they finished their meal in a rather macabre silence. Jezibell was still a put off by the way they reacted to her explanation for Neville's cup. What did she say wrong?

Hermione returned ten minutes later when lunch ended, but made it quite clear that she and Ron were officially _not _speaking. While they walked to Hagrid's first class of Care of Magical Creatures, Jezibell asked Harry how long these silent treatments usually lasted. Harry said a quarter hour, tops. Less if the teacher started asking open answer questions. He would know, having been friends with Ron and Hermione for two years, but Jezibell had plenty experience with angry silences herself. She bet less than five.

And speaking of silences, the one between Jezibell and Harry was fairly awkward as well. Without Hermione or Ron to supply conversation, it was difficult to find common ground. Jezibell was trying to think of something to say besides, "_See any other omens of your imminent demise lately?" _She finally asked about the Broomstick Service kit she'd gotten him for his birthday, which was a good call. Apparently it was what kept him sane that summer before blowing up his Aunt. At any rate, the topic carried them down the verdant lawns of the castle and almost to the Gamekeeper's hut (Where Jezibell had not yet been and was a little surprised at its up keep. It beat most of the shops in Knocturn Alley for cleanliness), and at this point they had a plethora of other things to say.

"Oh, no," said Ron, "Tell me that is not who I think it is."

It was. Walking in front of them flanked by his small armed guard was Draco. Loverly. It would appear they were having Care Of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins.

"I hope he doesn't try to mess up Hagrid's first day," worried Hermione.

"He better not," Ron growled in reply. Harry checked his watch.

"Six minutes exactly," he said glancing up at Jezibell, "I win."

"You do not," she retorted, "six is closer to five than fifteen."

"But you said _less than _five, I said fifteen _or _less."

"That was if Hagrid started quizzing us in class."

"Call it a draw?"

"This time."

"Class is starting!" The Gamekeeper bellowed, "C'mon over!"

Harry and Jezibell jogged to catch up to Ron, Hermione and the rest of the class, who were being greeted by Professor Hagrid and his large drooling dog. He led them around the edge of the Forest, claiming he had a Real Treat for them today, a proclamation at which most everybody exchanged worried looks. The six minute silence Ron and Hermione endured must have been rather loud, since while walking Ron asked, "What was all that about?"

"Overhead projectors," said Jezibell as Harry was having trouble keeping a straight face. Hagrid brought them into something like a paddock, as where horses might be kept. He told them to come around the fence and open up their books, but didn't get to say what page before he was interrupted by Draco. It could have been ruder, he only said one word.

"How?"

"Eh?" asked Hagrid.

"_How _do we open our books?" Draco repeated slowly, holding up his copy, which was bound in a belt Mother gave him. The rest of the class took out theirs, sporting other various forms of makeshift binding. Jezibell had to give them credit, some of the restraints possessed ingenuity. Seamus Finnigan used what appeared to be the waistband from his boxers, Daphne Greengrass carried a cocoon of spell-o-tape and Patil even sacrificed several of her hair ribbons to the Monster Book of Monsters.

"Hasn't anyone been able to open their books?" said Hagrid in true disbelief. One person had.

When she got her book at Flourish and Blotts, Jezibell realized something about Hagrid. He was another test. Hagrid was Harry, Ron and Hermione's best friend, and consequently was going to have to be hers too. Jezibell would need to do outstanding in his class if she was to win over the person who believed all Malfoys were devil spawn. To do something for a professor she hadn't before: try. So, she raised her hand.

"I have, Professor," Jezibell said, procuring her own book, contained by a hair band and sticking charm combination. It was just for show, however. Jezibell muttered the counter charm and the class watched as she removed the blue decoration. The book started to snap its covers together as they do and Jezibell ran her hand across its leathery hide, smoothing it to calm the book. It closed its eye and went to sleep, falling open on the table of contents, "You pet them."

Harry took his squirming book (another belted copy) and stroked the spine, surprised when it shuddered and fell quite.

"How'd you figure that out?"

"Intuition."

Not really, but that was the most believable thing to go with. It had to do with Emmy, and most things Emmy-wise were best left unsaid. It turned out that the Monster Book of Monsters was fluent in most of the languages of the beasts it taught and Emmy served as a medium for communications. Of course it couldn't say much, it was just a book, and the context was similar to what you would expect if a pet dog could speak. Stop hurting, stop poking, stop grabbing, stop pinching. Only through gentle touches and kindness would the book reveal itself to you.

The people closest to her demonstration discovered this now, ripping off rope and ribbon to run a finger down the furry spine. Hagrid sent the message to the large class.

"Yer supposed to stroke 'em," he gave Jezibell what may have been a smile under the fierce tangles of facial hair, "I thought they were funny."

"Oh yeah,_ tremendously _funny. Giving us a book that rips our hands off," Draco snapped bitterly.

He might have said more, but Harry cut him off with the usual, "Shut up, Malfoy".

Jezibell tried to be grateful at his intervention, but couldn't help remembering there was a time when the phrase applied to her too.

While the other pupils showed their books affection, Hagrid walked boldly into the Forbidden(to everyone but Hagrid)Forest to get whatever the subjects would be today. Draco was picking a fight with Harry, not a scene Jezibell wanted to be involved in. She glanced around for an excuse to stay out of it. Fortunately, this was not hard to find.

"Ahhhhhh!"

Jezibell turned in time to see Neville fall to the ground, wrestling his copy which was clawing at his face and robes. She walked over, plucked the book out of his hands and smoothed out the ruffles in its fur. Neville pushed himself up, looking as if he was attacked by a very angry chicken. Jezibell handed the open book to him, "You did get the memo about stroking them?"

"Yeah," He tried to pass off a nonchalant shrug while gingerly taking the book between thumb and forefinger, "I stroked it."

Jezibell was going to reply when she looked over Neville's shoulder and saw the Real Treat being towed by Hagrid toward them from the far end of the paddock.

"Whoa."

Hippogriffs. The class was loud and disorganized before, but now everyone fell quiet (yes, including the Slytherins) to stare at the new arrivals. They were, to say the least, extraordinary. They advanced with a strange gait, the bird forelegs dipped down to make up for the steady trot of the horsey back. There were several, a black raven, white dove, bronze eagle and one salmon pink one that resembled a flamingo. The largest, and most handsome, was a strong stormy gray that might have been a type of hawk. Peregrine falcon, maybe.

Hagrid didn't spend much time talking about today's subjects, briefly highlighting proper poise when approaching a Hippogriff and warning them against criticism, before asking who wanted to be the first victim. Jezibell was beginning to like this class. She started toward the large falconish one, but before she could make her intentions known Harry spoke up.

"I'll do it," he said.

Despite protests from their housemates and catcalls from Slytherin, Hagrid lead him over to the gray (aka Buckbeak) and Harry gave a quick bend to the hippogriff as instructed. Buckbeak bowed back without too much trouble. In fact, Harry did so well that Hagrid let him take a ride around the paddock. In the air. The Gryffindors cheered at his success as he touched down and the Slytherins slouched deep in their robes. Jezibell thought she saw a few Galleons exchange hands. Harry gave Buckbeak a quick good by pat on the beak, and Hagrid unleashed the rest of the creatures into the corral.

Jezibell went forward with Ron and Hermione while Harry graciously stood aside to watch as he already took his turn. It was about two students per bird and Jezibell somehow ended up paired with Neville. The hippogriff they were working with was a hawkish coppery one. Not so mammoth as Buckbeak, but still possessing large enough talons to send Neville into a frantic sort of dance. He kept stepping forward to stare it down as Harry demonstrated, before catching sight of the razor sharp beak which made him back up again. Jezibell was going to ask if she could have a go when a cry of bloody murder erupted from the other end of the paddock.

* * *

_Draco Malfoy_

It all happened so bloody fast and not as a figure of speech.

On second, no, one _quarter _second was all it took for him to go from petting the foul thing to lying in the dirt clutching a brutally torn arm. Draco didn't care what the Oaf said. It sure _felt_ like he was bleeding to death.

"I'm dying! I'm dying! It's killed me!" He wailed for mercy, watching the huge shadow of the beast being lifted from him. The Gamekeeper called his demon off quick enough, but did any of them _realize _how close Draco had been to being a piece of fondue on a stick on an appetizer tray?

"Yeh not dying, he jus' scratched yeh," Draco could hear the Gamekeeper's protests from above. A scratch! His arm was on fire. He could feel a dampness about his robes that was almost certainly blood. There were girls screaming all around that made his head five times dizzier. That troll was going to hear from his father for this, he and his behemoth could scratch on that! A sudden shift came in the world when two hard planks where forced under him, lifting his bleeding corpse skyward.

"Gotta get you to the hospital wing," said the gruff voice, closer than usual. Draco dimly registered exactly how he was being transported and wanted to scream again. But he couldn't look too conscious, they might decide to bandage him right there. Instead, he moaned about 'the pain...the pain...' and twisted his face up for good measure. Actually, though his arm still hurt quite a lot, it was becoming manageable - almost more so than Draco would have liked. He could hear a posse of Slytherin witches following them to the castle, which meant he was still going to have to put on a show.

Though it wasn't hard to look in excruciating pain and be miserable to every passing person, Draco wished he didn't have to pretend at all. From what he could tell, what the Hippogriff did to his arm was a lot more than a scratch, but it wasn't anything morbid, not even worthy of amputation. Not that he wanted any of those things to really happen; Draco Malfoy valued his life and limb highly. He was sure that anything, even that serious, wouldn't be much trouble for a healer to fix up. But the worse his wound was now, the more hell the Gamekeeper would catch for it later.

They seemed to be nearly to the Hospital Wing. Several doors were opened and the Gamekeeper's boots now echoed on hard marble floor, not soil. They passed a few errant students and ghosts, but not many as classes were still in session. Most stopped and asked what happened to Malfoy and the Gamekeeper told them the short version of an 'accident' in class. This abridging invited rebellion from the indignantly hysterical girls, and Draco gave the passerby an agonized groan for his trouble. If this kept up, the whole school would know how Draco Malfoy was mauled in Care of Magical Creatures before they reached the nurse. Which, of course, was exactly what Draco wanted.

For the first time Draco was glad to see the matron upon arriving. Normally he found her incredibly dismissive of his ailments - no matter how urgent or dire - and did not appreciate her enforcing the six visitors only rule when his housemates were gathered at his bedside. Potter got full length circus show when he showed up for _fainting _and Draco deserved no less. More, actually, much with his newly ravaged arm, not even _she_ could deny the situation. The appendage in question was also throbbing horribly, and what he really needed was a numbing salve on ready. The Gamekeeper deposited him onto the nearest bed and Draco did his best to be weak and pale as Madam Pomfrey went to work on the arm.

He must have done the job too well, because she started questioning the Gamekeeper, not him, about how he sustained his injuries. The ever faithful Pansy and prose, however, took it from there. They fed the nurse all sorts of gory details about how the Gamekeeper brought this monster to class and it attacked poor Draco out of the blue. They were so mawkishly persistent that by the time Draco's arm was all slung up and pain nullified in poppy seed ointments, Madam Pomfrey was berating the Gamekeeper too. All was well in the world until the door flew open to reveal his sister.

"Professor Hagrid has class of fifth years in seventeen minutes, if you'll excuse him," Jezibell spoke calmly, giving the Professor (hah!) a tug on his overcoat to clue him in that this was his cue to leave. Professor Hagrid left with a few more uneasy grumbles and Jezibell turned to look daggers at Draco.

"Matron, may I speak with my _dear brother _about his incident. Alone," she added when Pansy started to whine, "Family first, Parkinson, you understand. Seven minutes and you can have him all to yourselves."

She said this so darkly you'd think she was talking to a coven of vampires. As it was, Jezibell marched over to Draco's bed looking almost as dangerous. Madam Pomfrey agreed that family should come first and shooed the girls away, going into the back room herself.

"How are you?" She asked, like her visit was because she cared about the condition of her brother's arm. Draco knew better.

"I am a true martyr. Even with two layers of poppy seed, I can still feel where the talons nearly gutted me," he sighed, "Who knows if my arm will ever be the same again."

Jezibell leaned forward on the mattress to glare in his face, "Don't give me crap, I'll get it later. I want it from the horse's mouth, _what happened_?"

Draco tried to scowl back at her, which wasn't easy given his face was already pinched up from the fake pain. Mostly fake.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong, alright, just petted it the way Potter did. Then the overgrown chicken went berserk on me, for no reason, I swear!"

Her face wasn't buying it. Even though it was true, you know, pretty much. He hadn't been touching it the wrong way or anything.

"You insulted him."

"I didn't -"

"You just did it again. What did you say?"

Draco found himself in the familiar corner he usually ended up in when arguing with Jezibell. For the seven hundreth time he wondered how she got in Gryffindor. Sometimes his sister seemed more Slytherin than he was. That's not an easy feat.

"I told _it_ that it was a great ugly brute. How was I supposed to know that would offend it? Maybe ugly brute is a complement if you're a monster. Besides," Draco found his sneer, "If you'd shown me how to open that ridiculous book while I was being chewed up by it, maybe I would know that already."

He scored a point there, but Jezibell blew the Monster Book of Morons off, "If you listened to Hagrid, you _should_ know that already. And that a Hippogriff doesn't like a hypocrite."

"Oh, that's just priceless. _You _call _me _a hypocrite, Miss Bloodtraiter Malfoy playing the family card!" His taunt was nasty, but not undeserving. When Jezibell came into the Hospital Wing preaching to Pansy about 'family time', something started burning in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't anger, but something more harmful.

Jezibell let it roll off her with annoying ease, "Speak for yourself, then be as angry as you want."

Acid oozed through his gut and he snorted a derisive laugh, "Guess a year of being the crazy-cat-lady-in-training makes you immune to logic. Who'd of thought?"

Jezibell simpered, "While we're on the subject of cuckoos, what are you going to tell Mother?"

"Whatever I feel like, and I feel pretty bad," Draco adjusted the numb arm in the sling sincerely, "That bird is an uncontrollable menace."

His sister looked more likely to claw out his throat than Barfbeak right then. Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey returned, possibly saving Draco's life, to tell them that Pansy was getting impatient outside and she still needed to work on his arm. Jezibell quickly fixed on her indifferent face and told her they were about to wrap it up anyway. She said good bye to Draco nicely for the nurse, but gave him a no-false-moves-or-you're-dead look as she did so.

Pansy, Daphne and the others moved out Jezibell's way as she stalked out the door, forced respect for his sister. They shut it firmly behind her and gathered around his bed while the matron continued to patch up the arm. They tittered, asking what they could get for him, who would be the first to sign the cast and pleading for details of his brave plight. The acid in Draco's stomach reached a boiling point. _Speak for yourself, hypocrite._ He knew what he needed.

"Get a quill and parchment," he said directly to Pansy, making her smile, "I want to send a letter to my mother."


	9. Wangdoodled

Wangdoodled

_Gryffindor Common Room, October Fifteenth_

"Checkmate."

Jezibell knocked the white king over with a flick of her middle finger and an inward sigh. It was ninth time she fell for the sneak attack bishop in the twenty-six games lost to Ron Weasley. This was something Jezibell would never come to understand. How Ron, who couldn't strategize his way out of detention from Snape once a week, became mastermind once on the chessboard. Perhaps it was for this reason, to prove a person with no foresight cannot be crowned king of the checkered fields, that Jezibell took Harry and Hermione's place in the seat opposite the youngest Weasley brother and suffered her latest defeat by a decoy knight and stealthy bishop.

Ron smirked while gathering up the broken wizard's chess pieces that were already starting to reassemble. "You want to go for another round?"

"Yes, let's try for an even thirty," replied Jezibell coolly removing her own squirming man from the pile of wounded. Ron was laughing at her though he took care not to show it. Probably thought Jezibell would set Emmy on him if he did. She wouldn't, but it wasn't a bad assumption to have.

It's not that Jezibell was a terrible player - she was actually quite good within her own league. Part of the problem was the chess pieces themselves. They hated her. The ivory army was once property of her grandfather, Abraxas, and like his owl they seemed to be more aware of their surroundings than regular animated objects. Fully acknowledging and berating the fact they were stuck in the Gryffindor common room playing a bloodtraiter, they constantly griped and groaned about her military tactics. Jezibell supposed she would have better luck with them had she made Slytherin, but if she were Slytherin it is unlikely she would be playing or slaying a Weasley at chess. By now the feelings between army and commander were mutual. She couldn't stand the little buggers spouting off about Slytherin pride in the middle of a game and sometimes got a secret pleasure when Ron swept the floor with them.

But still, twenty-six games was a lot to lose. It was all Harry's fault. Jezibell wouldn't have played so many if she and Ron hadn't both finished their homework before Hermione and he was also available for slaughter. Harry had evening Quidditch practice, that lucky duck. Captain Oliver Wood was forcing his team to play at all hours ever since he heard Slytherin switched places with Hufflepuff in the upcoming match. This was thanks to Jezibell's stupid, stupid brother and his perfectly fine sling-ridden arm, which was also the same reason why Hagrid and Buckbeak were facing trial within the year and by extent why Jezibell was on her twenty-seventh round of chess this evening.

Jezibell made a rather rash move, taking a sacrificial pawn without checking around which resulted in one of her rooks being dragged off the board. Emmy snarled abruptly from her chair by the fire. The noise jerked Hermione out of a homework coma and she looked around at the back of the snake-cat's chair.

"Did that mean anything?"

"She heard Hagrid throwing out the dead flobberworms and wanted one," Jezibell casually ordered her king out of harm's way and Hermione nodded vaguely before diving back down into her heap of algorithms and rune translations. One problem Jezibell discovered with the Time Turner, though Hermione saw in to be a nonissue, was that though it gave you extra hours in the day, it did not let sleep you any longer nor do homework any later. Of course Hermione always ran on less sleep and less time to complete a five paragraph transfiguration essay than most human beings, but there must be some compensation for six more hours than usual.

The worst time sucker was Arithmancy, the paper Jezibell suspected Hermione was laboring over now. It was an incredibly finicky subject that predicted events in an organized numerically based fashion requiring long calculations and the constant adding and dividing of numbers to get a proper score, which was supposed to tell you something reasonable. In Jezibell's opinion this made it no more accurate than staring at tea dregs until your eyes went, but Hermione absolutely loved it. The other students in the class were mostly of the Ravenclaw Flock and a few Slytherins, the people who weren't satisfied with fortune telling from Professor T. The first day, they were supposed to translate what their partner's name said about them. Hermione was type 4, meaning she was reliable, reasonable, organized, stubborn, suspicious, prone to angry outbursts and practical to a fault. Jezibell was a 9 apparently. She was strongly determined, working tirelessly and an inspiration to others. This of course made great sense. Jezibell frequently inspired her classmates in creative new ways of projecting spit balls.

In other academics, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin was making a good impression of himself. Granted, after Nohead, expectations were not high, but if any teachers prior set any Lupin surely surpassed them. The first day he presented the class with a Boggart, shapeshifter that turned into whatever its subject feared the most, and gave Neville the first and last shot at it. He'd become something of a hero among students and, despite being a little raggedly around the edges (Jezibell's first impression was that of a teddy bear dragged through Knockturn Alley) he possessed a quiet sense of eloquence. Lupin was decidedly one of the good guys seeing the performance with the Dementoron the train, where he warded it away from the students in his compartment and afterword fed them chocolate. It was also worthy to note that he made himself a fast enemy of Snape – something Harry said was because he got the DADA post that Snape was after for years, but may also have to do with the Boggart-Snape Neville forced into his grandmother's clothes. The focus of their studies this year was Dark Creatures and Lupin brought several interesting things to class (more than what one could say for Professor Hagrid nowadays) for hands-on experience.

But despite all of this, Jezibell didn't like him. It was a loose impression she got, how he stared at her sometimes while walking with Harry, Ron and Hermione to other classes, as if he saw something in her she didn't. Jezibell knew full well how much she resembled certain high profile relatives and was accustomed to the older staff seeing someone else when they looked at her, but this was different. She couldn't define how, but Lupin's looks were not the fearful animosity found in most and Jezibell liked them less. He paid close attention to the four, the others liked it and found it paternal, but Lupin always put Jezibell on edge. For what, she didn't know. There was the time in the first class when she sidestepped the Boggart, letting Harry take center, and he looked at her curiously as if he was trying to figure out her motives. It was riddikulus. She didn't tell the others any of it, they'd think she was paranoid, or it was just her creepy aura at work on the new guy. She told Emmy though, in private, and the cat promised to keep her eyes, ears and nose on the new professor. She came to class sometimes, surreptitiously watching him show the proper ways to fight various darklings.

On the lighter note, Jezibell was pleased that her new wand was working beautifully in these trials, subduing grindylows and red caps without a hint of trouble. Whether it was the birch, the basilisk or simply having her own instrument again, all lessons that required wand movement were much easier than last year. Transfiguration was catching up to Potions for her best subject. She still hadn't gotten another smile from McGonagall, like Hermione did almost daily, but Jezibell knew she must be one of the top students in the class.

The same could be said, ironically enough, for Muggle Studies. As Burbage had promised, her class had a bit of fun to it not found in others. For instance, for one day they had the class project to create a wheel out of paper cards without using magic. Quirky, but fun. Jezibell supposed that Burbage could afford to be more innovative than most because of how little the school board expected from the class. Their first issued 'test' was on names of muggle inventions and what they did. Pure cake, everyone finished in ten minutes, and Burbage spent the rest of the period showing them the inner workings of a used car she brought to class. Much of the focus for now was of how muggles and Wizards interacted through the years and comparing their technologies. It wasn't hard, interesting even and Jezibell's only problem was going to be the look on her father's face when the end of term reports sported her excellent grades.

Back in the common room, Jezibell was in the middle of fending off Ron's knight, his favored piece, when out of the corner of her eye she saw Emmy straightened up from her chair and stare pointedly at the left wall where the notice board hung. Jezibell looked over at it too and registered a new slip of paper must have appeared seconds before.

"Check," proclaimed Ron happily glancing up at Jezibell then following her gaze to the recent addition, "What's that for?"

"What's what for?" asked Hermione as Ron crossed the room with a few other observant Gryffindors to check out the sign.

"Trip to Hogmeade's comin' up," grinned Seamus Finnegan, "This weekend, it says."

"Oh, that's perfect," twittered a fifth year girl to her friends, "I just _have_ to get those blue dress robes _Gladrags _has on sale!"

The Weasley twins returned from Quidditch practice. They looked at the poster and exchanged evil grins.

"Think I can find a way to shut up our Big Head boy in the Shrieking Shack?" asked one to the other.

"The Shrieking Shack is notably the most haunted estate in England," Hermione huffed indignantly, "You shouldn't be sticking people inside – it might damage the site."

"All I want to get inside is Honeydukes," Ron came back to the chessboard, though having abandoned all thoughts of playing, closed his eyes in reminiscence. "They've the most amazing chocolate coated Wangdoodles there, you know, the ones with the ripe strawberry and crème in the middle. I heard they got a new kind out with walnuts too," he sighed in rapture, "What about you, Jez? What do you want to see?"

Jez. This nickname was cropping up among the guys every few days in conversation. In the beginning, Jezibell debated whether or not to squash it, but decided it wasn't a hill to die on. Besides, she rather liked the new identity, Jez.

"The Three Broomsticks," she offered, "It's said to have hags and trolls."

"Oh yeah, we'll be sure to get some Butterbeer. Have you ever tried any?"

Harry came over to their corner, taking a seat near Hermione and tried to see the notice board which was now mobbed by students, "What's happened?"

Ron informed him of the first Hogsmeade weekend on Halloween and Jezibell remembered a puncture in the party balloon. Harry would not be coming to Hogsmeade now and for the rest of his life because his muggle family didn't sign the permission form and, after the inflation of Auntie Marge, likely never would. The teachers may have taken pity on him and let him go, if it were not for the crazed Azkaban escapee after him. Ron suggested he ask McGonagall anyway and Hermione promptly started brewing an argument with him over this, forgetting as they often did that Harry and Jezibell were there. Jezibell made conversation with Harry under the debate, something that was becoming a frequent pastime of theirs.

"She'd say no."

"I know," he agreed, "but I suppose it's worth a shot."

Crookshanks climbed into the conversations, chewing on a large dead bug in his mouth. While Hermione crooned to her cat and Ron fake vomited, Emmy hissed from her perch, "_Bet you the rat's next."_

A few people edged further away from her chair, which now had its own bubble of solitude in the vat of Hogsmeade gossip. Ron and Hermione stopped their fighting to focus on Emmy.

"She asked about Scabbers," Harry said quickly, half glancing at Jezibell who was surprised at his intervention. Often she forgot he could understand Emmy's little comments too.

"Tell her not to get any ideas," said Ron patting a quivering lump in his book bag, "Scabbers is taking a nap in my bag, safe from any maniac cats."

Hermione scowled, "Crookshanks is a very well behaved pet. I don't see why you keep –"

She let off when Crookshanks pounced.

He leapt agilely from Hermione's side onto Ron's bag and scratched ferociously at it with unsheathed claws. Ron yelled at the furry ball of death as he swung his bag around to get him off. Hermione screamed when her poor baby made liftoff and flew from the bag along with a lint ball flying out the top. Scabbers landed and scrambled for a nearby cabinet. Crookshanks started to chase him, but then the hunter became hunted. Emmy sprung up from her nap by the fire and with an unearthly wail tackled the ginger tom.

The two cats wrestled about the common room in a flurry of brown and orange. People backed away from the fight for fear of injury. It didn't last long. The serpentine-felid came out on top pinning down the bulkier animal with long claws at his throat. Emmy's mouth was fixed in a terrible snarl, showing off long venomous front teeth with her face pulled back in way that is very unnatural for a cat.

There was shocked silence in common room for a moment, all eyes on Emmy's wide open jaws. Jezibell saw her this way a few times before, catching songbirds in the yard, but to everyone else she must have looked like a small dragon. Crookshanks was no longer struggling, probably regretting every last meal a la mouse, and Jezibell figured she'd better call off Emmy before he had a heart attack.

"_Emmy," _She spoke in a smooth but firm warning. Emmy relaxed her position and stepped off the still immobilized Crookshanks, taking care to tread on his tail as she slunk over to Jezibell. She twisted around at her mistress's feet and snarled to Crookshanks (though in parseltongue so he couldn't understand anyway).

"_Touch the rat and you're scat."_

Hermione gathered up Crookshanks who was still trembling and glared at Jezibell in suppressed anger.

"You think _my _cat's crazy," She nuzzled the top of Crookshanks' head, "Talk about a maniac, that beast could have _killed _him!"

"What about Scabbers?" demanded Ron furiously, "With both of your lunatic pets rolling around the place, how's he supposed to get the rest and relaxation he needs?"

"Shut up!" said Hermione and Jezibell in unison.

Jezibell was highly offended. Emmy was her sole friend through last year, the one creature on earth that stuck with her after Durmstrang and preserved her mental wellbeing while the trio did their best to get her expelled. How dare Hermione accuse her familiar of being a monster?

"Emmy saved Scabbers," Jezibell stated.

"You sure," said Hermione peevishly, "Or was she looking for any excuse to take out Crookshankie's throat!"

Ron however was taken off guard, "_Emmy saved Scabbers_?"

He puzzled as if the words were in the wrong order.

Jezibell rolled her eyes in frustration. "It's not that difficult. She jumped Crookshanks so your rat wouldn't be eaten. She knows other people's pets are off limits, that's why she didn't take him out last year."

Now both familiar and mistress were having regrets on that.

"Off limits," steamed Hermione, "SHE ALMOST KILLED HIM!"

"Your right," snapped Jezibell, "Emmy has no problem ripping Crookshankie's head off. But she didn't. Emmy knows control. You should have taught your _pet_ the same before bringing him to school."

"Crookshanks has every right as Emmy to be here! Actually more, since last I checked hybrids aren't on the list of eligible pets!"

"Neither are rats," Ron pointed out spitefully. Their audience murmured in agreement. Rats were not cats, toads or owls, yet Ron never ran into any problems with Scabbers.

"A rat isn't going to _rip_ another animals _head_ off."

"Pot, have you met my friend kettle?"

Hermione stood for a second clutching Crookshanks and glancing around, "Isn't _anyone_ on my side?"

"Man's got a point," muttered Seamus from the bulletin board, "Who attacked who first?"

Hermione hugged Crookshanks to her bosom, stormed up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. The Gryffindors returned to their business. Jezibell leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes. Suddenly she was very tired. She felt horrible for her fight with Hermione. Not because of her stance – every word she said for Emmy was justified – but she knew siding with Ron was the worst thing she could have done. This made her angry again. There was so much less of this to deal with when it was just her and Emmy and everyone else was against them. Sometimes Jezibell wondered if she liked it better when it was all simpler.

Ron poked around under the chest to coax out Scabbers and Harry came over to Jezibell.

"I heard everything," He said, giving Emmy a tentative rub between the ears. Emmy hunkered down and closed her slit pupil eyes in pleasure, "And you're right, but maybe you ought to say something to Hermione when you go up."

Jezibell nodded her head to say she got the message. After all, she was working tirelessly to be a strong inspiration. But no, even that wasn't fair. Harry didn't deserve her unsaid sarcasm; he was only trying to keep the peace between his best friends and needed Jezibell to help him bear the mantle. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't quite strong enough for it yet. She looked up from Emmy to see Ron still rummaging under the furniture with one of his chess pieces. Harry and Jezibell watched him for bit, before Harry spoke again.

"Poor Scabbers. He's not coming out until June."

June. Eight months of fun-filled friendship away.

* * *

_Ronald Weasley_

It was strange, but in some ways, it felt like Jezibell had always been friends with them.

Sure, at first Hermione and Ron just went along with her because Harry was so convinced Jez (Don't ask how the nickname started, it just made her easier to deal with somehow) was alright for a Malfoy. She was still creepy and dark and smiled as often as Snape, but after a few months it was natural for Ron to look over his shoulder and see her there walking beside him, Harry and Hermione. She never said much unless you asked her something so she wasn't a fourth wheel when they talked. If she said anything it was usually to put in a snide comment to make sure nobody got too serious about what they were saying. She could actually be very funny given the right timing, bitterly dry stale cracker humor that it was.

There wasn't any coaching involved with teaching her the juggling routine either. Jez caught on quick to the balance of the new quartet. Hermione likes to be smart, let her raise her hand in class even if you know the answer. Harry needs his space sometimes and don't make a fuss that he uses You-know-who's name; if anybody has a right to, it's him. Do not mention the fact that Ron's robes are too short and when Hermione starts to give you lecture it's best to shut up and act like you're listening. The faceoff between Crookshanks and Emmy was a brief spat. Ron assumed the girls made up in their dormitory because they were back to being on something resembling good terms the next day (though the cats were still snarling enough to make you think Norbert was back). She knew most of the short-cuts and secret passages around Hogwarts Harry discovered with the invisibility cloak (which was funny as Ron didn't remember them showing her any) She understood them all perfectly; it was Jezibell the rest of them had trouble making sense of.

But there were other things Ron noticed about having Jez around. The students in their year treated her like she was a one-eyed animal in an alley. They approached in inches, unsure whether or not she was friendly, to offer a bite of small talk, unwilling to meet her distrustful glare and half expecting Jez to hiss at them like Emmy does. She didn't seem to care what other people made of her, but Ron wondered (and if he was being honest, worried) what other people made of her in their group. Harry didn't get it at all, why the sudden change of friend to enemy might make people think they were nutters too. Not that _he_ thought Jez was, but she had this thing about not being able see a line without crossing it that made her awkward to be around. Like when she used magic in Diagon Alley or clapped for Slytherins during the sorting. Of course Ron joined in too, but it was more to save face than actual support. Mostly. It was complicated.

Hermione understood this, a something that was getting rarer as she was being completely unreasonable about everything else. Crookshanks attacked Scabbers, fact. Emmy saved Scabbers, fact. Scabbers was ill and therefore needed rest, fact. So why was Hermione acting like all this rat and cat business was _his_ fault? Maybe Jezibell's weirdness was catching. Jezibellitis. Yesterday Ron snuck a look at Hermione's schedule and it said Muggle Studies at three_ and_ Divination _and_ Ancient Runes. Now _something_ about that didn't seem right, but hang it all if Harry noticed. Frustrated as he was, Ron supposed that Harry's deaf ear to complaints about the girls was the chocolate coating around their Wangdoodle group. The hard sweet stuff held everything thing else firmly inside so the different parts wouldn't fall splat on the ground.

Which meant the Hogsmeade trip would be a bit of a challenge. Without Harry to remind the three that they were all good friends it could get hairy. The Slytherin's weren't making things any easier. Solo shopping in Diagon Alley was one thing; going through Hogsmeade with the rest of the third year plus the original Malfoy was something else.

It was a sweet morning. A crisp and clean October day devoid of the rain promised for next week. The trio waved goodbye to Harry on the steps going down from the Great Hall, Ron promising to bring him back the cellar of Honeydukes Sweetshop, when Malfoy just couldn't resist putting his two bronze in. Something about Dementors that made Harry scowl and Jez narrow her eyes.

When they were out of ear shot, Hermione commented on the latter, "You know, sometimes it's hard to believe you and Draco are even related. You're nothing alike."

This was the gospel truth. The Malfoy twins were shared only a birthdate, two sides of the same jinxed galleon. Where Draco Malfoy was a bum wipe git, playing up the bad rich boy art better than thou act, Jezibell Malfoy didn't actively go about making people miserable. Instead she'd stare and glare through her black bangs giving the impression that she could gut you with her hairband and leave the corpse as a scratching post for Emmy, but was too apathetic to waste the effort on you for now. They were both evil, but a different sort of evil. Their features weren't anything alike either, though they were supposed to be _twins_ leading Ron to wonder if Jezibell might be adopted. He'd seen her dad a couple times and she didn't look a bit like the white blond pale skinned Lucius Malfoy. Now he silently thanked Hermione for making the leap of faith for him.

"I take after my mother's side," Jez wore a weird darkish smirk, "In their family portrait, I'd fit neatly."

She frowned to herself, glaring at the descending stairs and that was the end of that. Jez did that a lot – randomly giving the evil eye to the back of somebody's head or staring at person long after a conversation ended. She was a bit like Harry that way, except with Harry there was usually an explanation of some sort to accompany his thoughts. Jezibell preferred to stew in silence.

But not even the gloomy clouds of Jezibell Malfoy could dampen Ron's spirits today, when he at long last went to Hogsmeade. Pumped with enough electecity enough for a million batteries, they all were. Every third year wanted to be the first inside Zonko's, pull a fast one on whoever got close to the Shrieking Shack, taste some of Honeyduke's legendary fudge and coolly sip the mild alcohol in Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks bar. A brave new world was at their itching fingertips begging to be explored. Of course in all these fantastic feelings of adventure everyone forgot the Dementors.

Before they were permitted to enter the village, Filch needed to wave that Secrecy Sensor of his everywhere. The secrecy sensor was long golden rod that, by the relish the known squib wielded it with, was compensating for something. It took forever to pass the old git's security test. He even prodded under their armpits to see what might be hidden.

"What?" Ron asked in surprise when the caretaker directed them to the gates after ten minutes of being combed over, "You're not going to stick that thing up our bums to see if Sirius Black's stuffed there?"

"Ron!" Hermione scowled indignantly and Ron snickered.

"He doesn't have to," Jez said unfazed, looking at what was guarding the gates ahead of them. There were at least a dozen, though since all the tall black hoods were identical it made the impression of many more Dementors present. The patch of grass and dirt where they hovered was dusted in frost and as the third year group passed through it they received the sudden blast of icy chill. It was like walking through Nearly Headless Nick without the apologies. Forced to cut the comments on Filch's hygiene, Ron concentrated on keeping his eyes trained on Hogsmeade. The heaven pass this hell. If he paused, even for a moment, he would be sure he was deep in the Forbidden Forest with Aragog's spiders closing in on him. Under Filch's reluctant orders, the Dementors parted to let the now solemn troops pass though a few lingered on the edges of the levitation trying to suck the remaining warmth and happy feelings away. One strayed rather close to Ron and at the sound of its labored breathing he felt the rest of his enthusiasm for the trip dwindle and die.

"Wonder what Azkaban must be like," he thought aloud, shuddering.

"It sucks."

He turned at the bleak answer to his rhetorical question to see Jez glaring up the hood of a wayward Dementor like she wanted to murder it, preferably in the most painful way possible. Ron could feel her cold anger at whatever it was making her see and it frightened him almost worse than the spiders prowling and clicking at the edges of his thoughts.

"We're almost there," Hermione's voice trembled faintly and Ron put a hand on her frigid shoulder. Indeed, the terrible hike was nearly over and as they left their ghoulish escort at the gates Ron out more thought into Jezibell's bald statement. It was the way she had spoken, like she'd actually been to seen the prison on holiday, looked around and made her judgment. She hadn't, right?

It was hard to say. Anyone else and _no bloody way_, but with Jez, Ron knew nothing about her and what she did before coming to Hogwarts. Everyone talked a great deal about why she might've been expelled, Parvati and Lavender did a good job on manufacturing a new theory every week, but no one bothered to asked Jezibell herself why. It felt like a bad idea, in the same way as sticking your hand out to pet a poisonous viper. But now Ron wondered. Did Jez spend time in Azkaban?

The mild October breeze brushed over the throng as they entered Hogsmeade. Ron breathed in deep to take in the atmosphere of the village to cleanse himself of the overwhelming sense of desolation that clung to his mind like some soul-sucking leech (Dementors, among other side effects, made one an instant gothic poet).

"I really hate those things," mumbled Hermione, having abandoned all Hogsmeade induced excitement, "I know they're only here to catch Black and aren't supposed to harm us, but when that one came so near…"

Unable to complete the sentence, she drew her cloak shakily around her. Ron patted her on the shoulder and realized he needed to take matters into his own hands to save what was supposed to be a fun trip. He clapped them together sharply to draw his friends melancholy attention.

"Alright, that was heart stopping terrifying (some of the Dementor's influence still lingered) but we've got all of Hogsmeade to cover before dark and I know just where we should go first," He paused and girls looked expectantly at him.

"I'll bite," said Jez after a beat, "Where?"

"Oh, you _will_ bite," Ron let the moment sit a second longer, reveling in the brilliance of his plan, "We're going to Honeydukes Sweetshop."

Fifteen minutes later (much sooner than anybody wanted) the trio exited the sweetshop arms laden with bags of Wangdoodles, sugar quills and all other delicacies. Dementors, Ron sucked a free sample of the new hippogriff tracks fudge, what Dementors? They'd tried a bit of everything that was on sale and a few things that weren't (courtesy of Jez) ending up with enough sweet bags for Harry that he could open up his own private business. Hermione even found a box of mouse treats for her tiger on skele-grow that wouldn't be eaten.

Strolling through the streets of Hogsmeade, nibbling on chocolate, peeking in various stores and avoiding eye contact with the Sirius Black posters, Ron spotted Malfoy giving an elderly passerby some grief when they caught Crabbe and Goyle in the act of pick pocketing. The trio saw the argument between Malfoy and the Hogsmeade local unfold, the old man shaking his cane furiously while darling Draco snarled some obscenities at him. Meanwhile Crabbe and Goyle, who Malfoy was defending, had wandered off to the Zonko's store.

"Great company they are," Hermione huffed, "Just walking out on their best friend like that. Why does Malfoy even keep Crab and Goyle around, he can't possibly _trust_ them at all."

Jez said, "Of course Draco trusts them. They're predictable and he can make plans around that consistency."

Another one of Jezibell's twisted little pearls for how to control the people around you that made you wonder what exactly was going on under that hairband. Something Slytherin style disturbing was Ron's guess.

"Are _we_ predictable?" Hermione asked seeing a double meaning to Jezibell's words.

Jez came close to laughing at this measurement, "You people are the most spontaneous I've ever met."

"So…?"

"So that's the deference between you and Scab and Boil."

Ron snorted a laugh despite the serious tone, "Scab and Boil? Where'd that come from?"

"Nicknames, it's an honor system in Slytherin house."

No, Ron hadn't heard of people giving each other insulting nicknames. But what did he know of Slytherin hierarchy?

"I guess that makes sense, seeing as they're all slimy gits it might as well be out in the open," Ron chuckled again, "Scab and Boil. That's what I'm going to call those two from now on, Scab and Boil."

He repeated the new names a few times to himself as they traveled back to the main street where all the stores were. They found themselves in some of the fancier lanes of Hogsmeade where stores sold gold plated quills and jeweled cauldrons. They passed one furniture store where you could own a silver threaded loveseat monogrammed with your initials for 3,000 galleons.

"Who buys this junk," He chortled, "Serious nutters, especially with that lacey fluff on the edges? It looks terribly uncomfortable to sit in."

"You mean you don't have one yet?" asked Jezibell.

Ron's jaw hit the bricks beneath their feet. _No bloody way. _Then again how do you be sure? Her dad was rolling in gold, everybody knew. Did Jez own thousand galleon chairs? Hermione and Ron exchanged equal looks of incredulity.

"Seriously?" questioned Ron hoarsely.

"Yes, my family has money to waste on patented loveseats that are so stiff nobody would want to place themselves on for fear of permanent muscular dysfunction."

She was lightly mocking them, her tone flecked with sarcasm but so masterfully that you couldn't tell if it was obviously true or obviously not.

"The Three Broomsticks is a few blocks down," Jez continued like she didn't just let loose the mind scrambler of the century, "How about Butterbeer and then back to the castle."

Ron and Hermione walked a ways behind her so they could exchange notes.

"I think she lied about the loveseat," said Hermione, "Yes, I'm almost positive."

Ron shrugged unconvinced, "How can you tell? It's all the same to me."

"I can't, but I think she wants us to be confused."

That would make sense. Jez was often saying or doing things like that, where she'd seem to give away something mad about herself but it would be just mad _enough_ so you couldn't tell if it was the truth. Now that Ron considered it, that nugget about the Slytherin nicknames could have been one those too. He totally fell for it.

"Well she's mental then," said Ron hotly, "Why else would she lie to us left and right. If she doesn't want to talk about herself, that's fine! It's just conversation, all human beings do it. Why can't she act normal like everyone else? "

"Maybe she can't be. Or maybe we won't let her," said Hermione quietly, though Jezibell was several paces in front of them, "The joke is on us, really, for taking what she said literally. If anybody else said it you know we would have laughed. It's our own fault for treating like we did last year. She won't act normal because she knows we won't perceive her as such. Though she did bring it onto herself, she was completely supercilious when I tried to introduce myself."

"It's like the phoenix and the ash. Which came first, our thinking she's weird or her being weird?"

"Does it really matter at this point? She shares a dormitory with Parvati and Lavender. She knows exactly what people say about her and that half the time we do believe it. Maybe this was her rubbing it all in our faces. Like you or Fred and George would. The real humor isthat we didn't understand it."

"But people tell jokes for other people, not themselves. If _we're _not supposed to understand it who is?"

Jezibell reached The Three Broomsticks a block ahead of them and now was turned around catching Ron and Hermione blatantly talking behind her back. Her expression didn't show if she heard them, but dark eyes bored into both of them, Ron in particular, as if she was trying to petrify. Ron remembered a Ravenclaw saying that she had hearing as good as her cat and suppressed a gulp.

"Coming?" she said flatly after a long pause.

"Are we?" Ron muttered under his breath.

"Of course we are!" said Hermione, answering both of them and hurried up the steps to follow Jez inside, Ron still stalling outside.

So Hermione was with Jezibell, was she? What had happened to the whole thing with the cats? Jez could have lied about Emmy helping Scabbers and nobody could tell the difference. In hindsight, Ron started spotting Jezibell's little maybe lies everywhere, sprinkled all over their conversations like falsehood fairy dust. It was embarrassing.

But what about Harry? Ron knew he hated lying and liars. Considering he had been lied to by his muggle family for pretty much his whole life, the concept wasn't something he took lightly. Surely he wouldn't be able to trust Jezibell if he knew about all this. Ron considered leaving the girls and going back to the castle, maybe to see Harry, maybe just for some time alone. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to it. The afternoon was getting cold and the warmth of the bar drew him. The girls were probably wondering what had gotten to him and one would be coming out soon to check. Ron sighed with the autumn breeze that blew across the street and started up the stairs. He was coming.

The Three Broomsticks did not have hags or trolls, at least not today, but it had just about everything else. Goblins bargained in corners, smartly dressed ministry men chatted over huge smoking goblets, house elves darted around the tables so quick if you didn't know what to look for you'd miss them, shrunken heads dangled from walls and a very interesting creature in a red barmaids robe caught Ron's eye while she was serving students Butterbeer.

"Over here!"

Hermione was flagging him down from a corner (not one of the counter stools to Ron's disappointment) He marveled at more wonders that passed him as he came to the girls' booth.

"Sorry for the hold up," he apologized quickly, sliding into the booth next to Hermione and opposite Jez, "Did you see some of the mad stuff they've got here? I swear that one goblin bloke looks like Flitwick's granddad."

The barmaid poured some of the smoking magenta drink perfectly into a large goblet, filling it to exactly the brim without a drop spilling over. The smoke wafted up word making a pink haze around her golden blond hair that flowed down onto her –

"I'm glad to see you're taking an interest in the more historic sites of Hogsmeade," said Hermione, breaking Ron's concentration.

"Yeah, brilliant," he answered without thinking, "Maybe I should go-"

"_I'll _get the drinks," Hermione interrupted sharply. She glared, shifting around him in the wide booth and stalked off to counter. What was her problem? Ron shrugged it off. She'd been in a mood all week, still hadn't got over Lavender and her rabbit proving her wrong about Divination.

"I guess after this, we'd better go back to the main street and see if we can find more souvenirs for Harry," he said, not really expecting Jez to answer. She sometimes didn't to non-questions. He avoided eye contact with her, trying to catch the barmaid's and waiting for Hermione's return.

"You put a lot of faith in him." said Jezibell abruptly.

"Sorry, who?"

"Harry. You and Hermione would follow him off the end of the earth if he jumped first."

Was this her trying to start a conversation? Maybe she was joking, like before with the loveseat. He decided to play along.

"Oh, like you wouldn't," he laughed.

"No. If my sibling was taken to the Chamber of Secrets, I would have trusted only myself to find him. Not another student, in any case."

Ok, not joking. It was sort of an unspoken rule with Harry, Ron and Hermione that their wacky adventures of the year before were not to be discussed at length after the fact. No point in going through it all twice. When Jezibell came along they hadn't considered she might want to talk, especially not since she hardly talked regularly.

"You don't think we would have tried our hardest to save anyone, even Malfoy?"

"He would have tucked his tail between his legs and ran if it was one of you."

Ron snorted, "I think we're a little more honorable than Draco Malfoy."

"Yes," she agreed, "You are."

He thought about that. He wouldn't have expected Jezibell to go along with him calling her brother a cowardly little git. Or maybe she wasn't agreeing about that, but acknowledging the trio was more honorable than anyone. Or maybe she was deliberating confusing him so she could laugh about it later with her illegal hybrid. Ron wasn't accustomed to thinking like this and it made him uncomfortable which made him annoyed, which made him want to give something back to the source of his discomfort.

"So, what about you? If it had been one of us, would _you_ have tried?"

Jez didn't answer and as soon as Ron asked, he wanted to eat his words. It _had_ been one of them, his sister. And Jez did more than try. She succeeded. Harry told him afterword the exact part she played, staring down the basilisk so he would be ready for it with the sword. Basilisk-whispering, he called it. Harry could understand her parseltongue; he knew full the in jokes between her and Emmy and trusted her anyway. No wonder, she saved his life.

"We do trust you, you know," Ron broke the awkward silence.

"Harry does."

"And you think we don't."

"I think it's a bad idea to put faith in people you don't know. Worse in the ones you do."

So she was saying they shouldn't trust her? This was getting too deep, too confusing. And why did it matter anyway, as they sat in the Three Broomsticks on a school fieldtrip, if any of them really trusted each other anyway? The answer was found in the filthy enraged face of Sirius Black, glowering from the adjacent wall. Black was after Harry, mad and dangerous as a rabid dog. Dumbledore, the Ministry and the Dementors could do whatever they wanted to make the castle a fortress, but if two years at Hogwarts taught Ron anything it was none of their plans would matter at the end of the day. Something would go down, like it did before, big and trust testing involving a _real_ nutter bent on killing Harry and anyone who defended him. When Ron and Hermione signed up to be Harry's friend, they knew this was an occupational hazard but they also knew he was worth it. Did Jezibell?

"Do _you_ trust us?"

"Yes."

"Do you trust _me_?" Ron was thinking of his family heritage when saying this, testing her. She had saved Harry's life once, but Harry wasn't the only person who might have to rely on her. Would Jezibell admit to putting any degree of trust in a Weasley?

Jezibell smirked quirkily. "Sometimes."

Hermione returned with the drinks and Jezibell sank in the back of the booth, retreating under her bangs like she'd said too much (which was a bit daft seeing as she said hardly anything at all). The Butterbeer was delicious, molten gold that went inside you and warmed to the brim. Even Hermione was in good mood after trying some. Ron tried to give more thought to the conversation with Jez, trying to decide it she had actually meant any of it. It was useless. Some things were just better left unfathomed. The pretty barmaid came around to collect their empty mugs and Ron took the opportunity to make friends with the locals.

"Hey, miss, did you hear a good one about a hag, a Healer and a Mimbulus Mimbletonia?" Ron looked down at the table, trying to remember the exact wording. He'd come up with the lines himself, even Fred thought it was funny. It'd be sure to impress.

"See, there's this old hag whose been keeping a Mimbulus Mimbletonia in a cupboard for years and –"

"Yes I believe I have heard that one, Mr. Weasley" The barmaid flashed sweet smile of even white teeth, "Your brothers gave me their version not fifteen minutes ago."

She swiped their mugs from the table and gave giggle, "Some advice, now, if you want to impress a lady who's seen every trick in the book at least try to come up with your own jokes."

She winked at Hermione and sashayed back to the bar leaving Ron feeling a hot red blush bubbling up his cheeks.

"Smooth," observed Jezibell.

"Oh, stuff it!" scowled Ron, "It's not my fault Fred and George stole the joke. If we'd only got here twenty minutes earlier, she'd have cleaned our table first and the punch line would be on them. Come on. Let's go to Zonko's. They've already been and I don't want to have to see their faces."

"I can't believe you," exclaimed Hermione as they were leaving, "She had to be at least in her late thirties."

"Your point?"

"Well, it's just, it just doesn't seem," she spluttered for the right word to describe the crime, "_Right_ for you to be going after some older woman."

"Who might have been that well-traveled bloke that came to teach last year? The guy with all the books in his twenties who's Valentine's Day card you kept under your pillow. What was his name, it was just at the tip of my tongue. Something like Blockyard or Goldilocks or –"

"Nohead," supplied Jez. She nicknamed him _Nohead._ If it wasn't for that Jezibell was a Malfoy, and therefore genetically imbued with being an upper class prick, she might be very likable.

"That is demeaning to a person with severe memory loss," Hermione said indignantly, "_Gilderoy Lockhart_ is a world famous personnel who exploited countless cases of dark sorcery in his life time. It only made sense that I, as a student, would feel drawn to a person with such knowledge. Some middle aged lady who gets stupid men drunk is hardly a comparison!"

"I can't believe you're still defending him, even before the memory charm he was thicker than Hagrid's rock cakes," Ron rolled his eyes, "Maybe I'm a little muddled on this point, but didn't your precious Lockhart turn out to be a _total phony_ and betrayed me and Harry before wiped his memories with his own spell, which also caused a cave in because he had no clue how to aim."

"He missed because he using your spell-o-tape wand, which got that way because you crashed a car into a tree."

"You _know_ the story behind that! We _had_ to fly the car 'cause Dobby blocked the bloody entrance!"

"Yes, but you could have


	10. Dog Eared

Dog Eared

_Great Hall, October Thirty-first_

Jezibell stared up into the heavens, sparkling and swirling with dizzy light if you looked long enough. Galaxies pin-wheeled in slow motion, milky arms throwing off glitters and a shooting star crossed her vision briefly before disappearing into the empty blackness beyond. She picked out several constellations she'd known since she was old enough to figure out her name. Orion, Draco, Cassiopeia, Canis Major. She stretched her arms into the plush sleeping bag and twisted inside her school robes trying to make herself comfortable without disturbing the warm lump of Emmy at her feet. There was, ah, a _problem_ with getting into Gryffindor tower that night and all the students had to do without their evening comforts, such as pajamas and tooth cleansing potion, since the tower and the rest of the castle were being searched. The manufactured sky in the hall made up for the short notice arrangements, Jezibell normally saw the enchanted ceiling by day and found the constellations far more entertaining than regular blue sky. Of course this particular night there were a plethora of things to entertain.

"So how do you think he got in?"

"Didja see them marks on the paintin' –?"

"There's this shrub in Greenhouse two, always seemed rather suspicious –"

"Oh god, I was terrified -"

"The poor Fat Lady, what an awful fright -"

"He coulda disguised hiself, or used an invisibility cloak –"

"Maybe that's how he got passed the Dementors in Azkaban –"

"But Dumbledore said that wouldn't work –"

"He could've' apparated in –"

"No, he couldn't, you can't apparate inside Hogwarts! How many times -"

That evening, while the Halloween feast conveniently took place, Sirius Black somehow broke into the castle. He slipped passed the Dementors, tiptoed around protective spells and snuck all the way to Gryffindor tower only to be stopped by the purest layer of Hogwarts security: the common room password. Jezibell let her mind recreate how the scene in front of the portrait hole might have looked. Mass murderer Sirius Black, escapee of the inescapable island prison Azkaban, reduced to nothing but an unlucky school boy who forgot the password for the portrait hole. The Fat Lady should be painted a medal for services to the school if they ever got the claw marks off her.

Jezibell doubted anyone would appreciate her dark humor. The panicky paranoid energy in the sleepless hall reminded her uncomfortably of last year, when Slytherin's Monster roamed the halls. The difference was that last time Jezibell was the subject for most fears and accusations. The situation was reversed now. She was just as susceptible as anybody else for an attack. Well, almost anybody….

In the sleeping bag next to hers was Harry Potter, staring silent at the ceiling same as she was. Sirius was a key player in the Dark Lord's infamous murder of the Potters. He was their Secret Keeper, and years before that he'd been a stooge from inside the Order of the Phoenix that not even high ranking Death Eaters such as Father knew about. What was supposed to be his shining moment as the Dark Lord's right hand was when he double crossed the Potters after a week of being under the Fidelius Charm's protection. Of course that lead to the Dark Lord's fall, which is why Sirius let himself be captured. How better to prove himself a true to the cause and not a traitor for leading his master to trap? However, after several years in Azkaban even the most heroic go mad and Father was told confidentially by the Minister of Magic that awhile before Sirius's escape he was muttering in his dreams 'He's at Hogwarts, He's at Hogwarts.' It was supposed after twelve years mulling things over in an Azkaban cell Sirius came to the half-baked conclusion that his situation was the remaining Potter's fault and the only way to get things back to normal was to see him dead. Harry said he knew all this from Ron's dad, Mr. Weasley, but hadn't acted very scared of his would be assassin on the Hogwarts Express. Jezibell wondered exactly how much he was told.

"You know why he came," Jezibell spoke to Harry aloud, keeping her eyes fixed on the stars and voice low so Ron and Hermione, who were now debating about the rules of defensive magic to the left of Harry wouldn't hear, "Sirius didn't break into Hogwarts to become the next Houdini. He's after you. This isn't mumbled dreams and speculation. He really does want you dead."

Jezibell heard an impatient sigh to her left.

"Yeah, I know," Jezibell could practically hear Harry's eyes roll, "He's a famous mass murderer, has broken out of Azkaban and will stop at nothing to kill me. I get that it's horrible and this is part where I'm supposed to be scared. But I'm not. I mean, it's not like this is the first time I've had someone skulking around the castle plotting my early demise."

"Yes, by the second year of living in fear it must all be old hat by now." A comet sliced through Canis Minor, one of the harder ones for Jezibell to spot.

"Third, actually if you count the professor who had Voldemort growing out the back of his head."

Jezibell was forced to laugh slightly to hide the kneejerk shiver in her voice from His name. "But how can we forget the most malevolent schemer of them all, who nearly succeeded bashing you to bits twice: Dobby."

Harry snickered quietly, a smart move as it would be awkward to guffaw loudly after such a serious event. Jezibell rather liked Harry better than Hermione or Ron. The pair of them were giving her a Luke warm shoulder after the trip to Hogsmeade so Jezibell figured she must have offended or scared them somehow. Again. Sometimes Jezibell got the impression they only put up with her because Harry said so, especially Ron. Jezibell didn't blame them too much, if she was being honest with herself she felt the same towards them (Them as in both at the same time, Ron or Hermione wasn't so bad). Harry may not understand any more than they did, but he accepted her.

"So," she continued, "You know everything he did and you have no problem with it."

There was a pause here and Jezibell guessed Harry was thinking about his parent's murder. Or maybe that Sirius was still his godfather. Jezibell could relate on that at least. Bellatrix and Rodulphus Lestrange were named her and Draco's godparents a year before they were sent to Azkaban for torturing an Auror couple into insanity. You get over it.

"I'm not saying I'm not scared _at all_, just not the terrified bundle nerves everybody expects me to be. Killing a whole street of muggles is awful, but it can't be worse than anything Voldemort's done. I've faced _him_ three times now, haven't I? If anything, this is a downgrade."

Jezibell was impressed. She hadn't known Harry for very long, but he didn't seem the type of person to take personal offenses lightly. Having such a mild reaction to who ratted out his parents to the Dark Lord was not something Jezibell would have accounted for. He reminded her – well, not of her brother – but what she would want in a brother, someone who took things more calmly and rationally than most people and didn't get worked up about what you can't control.

"So how do you think he got in?" Harry finally asked, channeling the question rippling through the hall.

"Maybe he didn't."

"How do you mean? You saw the huge scratches on the canvass."

"Exactly. Did those look like marks a serious assassin would make?"

"Maybe a really angry one. With a knife."

"He's mad, not stupid. Slashing the portrait is pointless and gives away his position, just making it harder for him to try again. All we have to go on that it was him is the Fat Lady and Peeves' word. Is either of them that reliable? Peeves is literally a physical embodiment of discord and the Lady was already freaked from being alone in a dark corridor. Peeves and some joker probably set this up with a big hairy mask and one of Hagrid's overcoats. They sneaked up, surprised the Lady, sliced the painting with a carving knife and were back to the Great Hall before anyone knew."

"Lights out, now!" called Prefect Weasley to hall at large, "I want everyone in their sleeping bags and _no talking!"_

The candles blew themselves out simultaneously, but the whispers took slightly longer to completely die. With the few second of cover, Harry sneaked one more thing.

"What really bothers me are those marks," he muttered, sounding more troubled than with the rest of the conversation. "How they were made, it looked almost… animal."

Without the babble of voices to distract, the celestial dance became hypnotic and Jezibell soon found sleep, lost in the kaleidoscopic dreams one tends to get when you go to bed in an unnatural position or new place. Until she received a hard nudge to her shoulder that is.

"_Emmy?" _The sleep garbled parseltongue was little more than a whisper.

"_Quiet!" _Someone hissed back who didn't sound like the cat. Sirius - Great Hall - Harry - scratches. Right.

Above her a pair of voices came closer on footsteps hushed by sweeping robes.

"The whole of the third floor has been searched, he's not there. Filch has done the dungeons and there's nothing there either," said a dry nasal that might be Snape. She began to breathe heavily and evenly to give the impression of deep slumber, a trick learned from Emmy.

"What about the Astronomy Tower, Professor Trelawney's room and the Owlery?" That deep, measured voice must be Dumbledore. In – one, two – out – one, two.

"All well searched."

Out – one, two – in.

"Very well, Severus," Yes, definitely Snape and Dumbledore and by the sound of it they were talking about Sirius who was purging their defenses more effectively than a sudsy snake. In - one, two – out, "I didn't really expect Black to linger."

"Have you any theories as to how he got in, Professor?"

A second, sharper dig came to Jezibell's side between one of the 'out's. Harry thought she went back to sleep.

"_I'm awake."_

The message was quiet, passable as muttered sleep talk. Jezibell figured if Harry was able to hear the serpent's tongue from deep inside the plumbing of the castle, he would understand her.

"Many, Severus, each as unlikely as the next."

"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before… start of term?" Snape's voice was tighter now, as if it came through clenched teeth. Jezibell suspected Harry woke her to do some eavesdropping so she quickly started to hypothesize. Was Snape upset with Dumbledore about something? Or just annoyed at how easily Sirius eluded him? No, definitely more than annoyed. Out – one, two – in.

"I do, Severus."

"It seems almost impossible that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed –"

"I do not believe a single person in this castle would have helped Black enter it. I must go now to the Dementors, I said I would inform them when our search was complete."

"Didn't they want to help?" queried a new voice that was young and pompous enough to be Prefect Weasley.

"Oh, yes. But I am afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am headmaster," He concluded, a bit darkly for the generally undaunted headmaster of Hogwarts.

Shuffling feet to the side told Jezibell Dumbledore left and after a pause similar sounds from the right indicated Snape's departure. Unfortunately there was no third set that may or may not be Prefect Weasley and faint breathing could be heard overhead that made it impossible for her, Harry, and/or Ron and/or Hermione to exchange notes, so Jezibell reviewed them to herself.

Key point: Sirius was gone, if he ever was, leaving some very frustrated staff members in his wake. Jezibell knew it would be best for all if he was caught quickly, but still felt a small surge of triumph. Maybe because they were family, maybe because she too spent time as the underdog, maybe she just loved the poke in the nose the Dementors were getting as a result, but there was something perversely satisfying that Sirius managed to beat the system once again.

Yet there was something more, a slippery lozenge theory Jezibell rolled around in her blurred thoughts. It made a fair amount sense to her but she wasn't sure the others would agree with her. No, she was positive they wouldn't. But she didn't need their approval. She could do the calculations herself.

(Before Start of Year + Staff Appointment)Angry Snape = Lupin

* * *

_Draco Malfoy_

It was only nine thirty in the morning and Draco already knew it was going to be a great day. Now it wouldn't be the first time he jumped to conclusions, even _thinking_ the words was definitely tempting fate, but the greatness of this day was set in motion weeks ago. He had 'accidentally' forgot to renew the caterwaul charm on his watch allowing him to sleep shamelessly in. He ate a filling breakfast of eggs on sour dough toast with ham seasoned just the way he liked with nearly too much pepper, a delacy he had bullied the house elves into especially preparing and holding after the rest of the breakfast platters were cleared for this day two days ago. He had Crab and Goyle steal a WWN radio and work out the good stations from the rotten ones so he could find a suitable ambience without trouble (He would have a radio already, in better quality, if Mother wasn't insistent that the stations were too corrupt with Mud-pop. He would agree, if it wasn't the only way to get the Weird Sisters. No one understood him like Myron Wagtail).When Draco drank from the goblet of victory, he drank deep.

It was Saturday, dawn of the Gryffindor vs. Slyth – ah, Hufflepuff match. It always gave Draco a good cheer to watch the two excuses for Quidditch teams do ballet around each other, too noble to properly foul a friend, but this time he was especially eager to see the outcome. See, the whole switching of who Gryffindor was going to play was a brilliant he devised to give Slytherin the edge for the cup. Let's break it down.

In a tragic incident of fowl play (ha), the indispensible seeker for Slytherin's arm is injured, clearly not fit to play for at least another month or so. It's just too bad - there's a terrible storm coming in and Gryffindor were training so hard specifically against Slytherin tactics. Alas! It appears the Slytherin team will be forced to swap places with Hufflepuff in the upcoming match, a team which upped its skills enormously, from blundering buffoons to burning badgers, with the arrival of a phenomenal new seeker and captain. Gryffindor has not the time to train for this new development and will underestimate team they so easily beat many times before. Factoring in the bad weather, they will be trounced miserably. Hufflepuff wins and goes on to defeat Ravenclaw. Meanwhile, the Magnificent Draco's arm heals and Slytherin waits in the wings, taking notes on Hufflepuff who are too far gone on their winning high to notice and so when Slytherin faces the long standing champions for the Cup, the burning badger's flames will be quickly smothered with especially modified strategy. Slytherin wins and the house cup close to follow with grand applause and much weeping on the Gryffindor part. Long Live The Serpent!

"But really, it's tragic," Draco lamented to a passing Hufflepuff bitterly while leaning over so Pansy could sign his cast again, "Such a shame, this arm. If not for healers' orders I would be out on that field quick as I could."

Yeah, right. A glance at the enchanted ceiling showed the purple clouds crackling and swirling a few miles per hour short of a hurricane. The only shame would be if they called off the match on account of rain. Draco wasn't sure how much longer he could convince Pomfrey his arm wasn't healed yet without some serious bribes.

But as of now everything was perfect, lovely as the eggs and ham. He entertained himself by watching the Gyffindors at their table, roving around nervously in varying states of worry and annoyance. The annoyance probably came from having to deal with their new portrait guardian, the Nutty Knight. After the Black attack of a few nights ago, extra precautions were being taken all around, but mostly assuring other students that Potter was indeed the center of all creation. Everybody who knew his secret regarding the murderer followed him around as bodyguards these days, making it very hard for Crabbe to fracture his elbow and have it appear as an accident. Just saying.

Draco watched his shrimpy opposite anxiously eating toast with Jezibell and their friends, as if they could sense the team's muddy fate. Well, with Jezibell it was hard to tell exactly what she was thinking under all the hair. Draco would love to know if she'd figured out his brilliant scheme yet and if she would tell them if she did. He wasn't about to ask. Unfathomable things, like sisters, were best left unfathomed if only for personal safety. He observed the other morons at the table; Weasley playing with the tines of his fork, Camera Creevey taking some shots of the tense team and the mudblood staring at the ceiling mumbling what might be some kind of prayer.

"Oh, Draco – look! Isn't that your mother's owl?"

He looked round at the cry sent up by one of the first year girls and lo! Abraxas soaring down from the rafters came to bring further tidings of joy. His wings shook drops of water on the students below him but still maintained a dignified presence. Probably because he was so huge an owl, he still drew the _oohs_, _aahs _and_ eeks _from people's mouths. Abraxas dropped down on the table, a neat landing between the porridge bowl and ham, missing both but coming dangerously near the ham. He strutted up to his master and held out the fat and heavy envelope attached to his leg. Draco took it, feeling the cold yet completely dry surface and guessed the sender used a water repelling charm. He read the address.

"Yeah, it's from her –"

"Open it, Draco!" squeed Pansy, tap dancing on the fine line between cute and obnoxious, "What'd she send this time? What'd she send?"

He opened it in answer and flipped the envelope upside down so the two dozen blazing Dragonsnaps that were the usual delicacies from Abraxas tumbled onto the table. What wasn't the usual was the piece of parchment that fell out along with the candy. Mother didn't often write him a letter. She knew they could be embarrassing when received at the breakfast table and the Dragonsnaps said everything, really. He popped a couple in his mouth, enjoying the burst of pure spice that would make a jalapeño cry for water as they nibbled on his tongue, turning away from his housemates as the vultures descended on unsupervised candy and unfolded his mother's hand-written words.

**Dear my darling Draco,**

Ugh. Definitely a good idea to keep this from the Slytherins.

**I truly hope your arm is starting to feel better. The report from the hospital said you were still in terrible pain. I am so, so sorry, my love. I sent forward the extra flaming **(She never does get it right)** Dragonsnaps reward you for such bravery. I have been experimenting with spices in my cooking and found them quite the essence of good taste. I never knew how much a difference in flavor a pinch of Lowery salt makes when used with pork! Aren't you proud of me? **(Proud as in lucky he wasn't at the house which was most likely being drowned by the AMR squad, yes) **I have news on the matter of your mauling that might cheer you up. Your father is progressing in his case against that monstrous Gamekeeper and his beast. Dumbledore is of course defending them both, but your father is a cunning, generous man and I'm sure that even if the Gamekeeper is not sacked, the Hippogriff will lose its hideous head for this, I promise you, dear. But that is not entirely why I wrote to you.**

**Lately, I've been inviting some of our favorite families over for dinner to demonstrate my blooming skills around the Manor, you know, the Greengrasses, the Crabbes, and Ms. Bella Zabini. Some of their children go to Hogwarts in your year, I know your friends with young Vincent Crabbe, are you familiar with Bella's charming son Blaise? **(Yes, a little. Zabini was a dull person in Draco's opinion, rather androgynous having big enough lips for a boy or girl and being several months overdue for a haircut. Draco honestly wouldn't have been able to tell if they didn't share a dormitory. He didn't mind Zabini much, he was fairly easy to manipulate as long as there was bubotuber pus on hand.)** In either case, they've had contact with their children at Hogwarts and have been hearing some rather disturbing things regarding your sister. **

**I've heard all about this new "friendship" she has with young Harry Potter and his little gang of followers. It seems fairly impossible this sort of thing could have sprung up overnight. Jezibell – whatever her faults – was always so careful in her decisions and my instinct finds it hard to believe she came to trust this boy without any sparks involved. **(_Sparks?_ What language is this woman speaking?)**I hate to think, my daughter falling for Harry Potter of all people! I'd write to her myself, but I know she would never listen to me and my silly old fashioned warnings and so this is where your part comes in. All you have to do is talk to her and send my message while acting as if it's from you. Ask her what exactly is going between her and Harry Potter, if she is in love with him or any of them for that matter (I shudder to think of what may be going on with that Ronald Weasley). I know you two aren't on the best of terms but perhaps if it comes from someone her own age, she will take it easier. You may not sympathize with me on all my concerns, but Jezibell is your sister, no matter how unconvincing a case she makes for it at times. If you fail to send back a reply that satisfies me by tonight, a package may come Monday containing a particular personal belonging that you would really rather not have seen at the house table.**

**The one who knows best,**

**Mother**

"So, Draco," asked Daphne, sucking on a Dragonsnap while keeping a firm finger on the tiny jaws, "What'd your mum have to say?"

Draco couldn't answer just now. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth out would flow the stream of curse words that were barreling through his brain as he reread the letter. First coherent though: How could she do this to him? Second coherent thought: Is there an escape?

He went over the scandalous half a few more time, desperate for loopholes. There were none. The task was clearly laid in the middle of the motherly instinct crap. Ask Jezibell if she is in love with Potter by tonight. GAH! Actually, considering the storm it would probably be best to send it sooner to give Abraxas more time. GAH! Write down her answer and send letter in reply _without Slytherins knowing._ GAH! Pray answer deems worthy so Mother does not forward unspecified item of doom. GAH! Double GAH!

But he couldn't embrace his horror yet. First give coherent answer to Daphne.

"Usual stuff. She's still on the cooking spree, nearly took out the roof this time," he paused for their giggles, "Father's doing well in his case, seems like that brute's going to get it after all."

They cheered, satisfied and turned back to the candy which Draco now wanted to spew. One of the few problems with being in the Malfoy family was that everybody knew how to bribe and blackmail and do it good. Looking back more critically, Draco saw the letter possessed all the elements it should. Start with a gentle bribe (Dragonsnaps), give some good news to make them happy with you (Father's case). Lay the pity/worry/unpleasantness on thick over the demand and finish with a sour alternative if you don't. Mother may be a hazard in the kitchen, but she could whip up a persuasive letter like nobody's business. Draco just wished it wasn't his either.

He could fake a letter, probably. Wait until tonight, write some good dirt on Jezibell and send it off with no worries. The only issue was if Mother saw through the lie he'd be decimated come Monday. No, he had to give the genuine article a go first, he couldn't risk it otherwise. Or could he? The masterstroke of the letter was that he didn't know _which_ potentially embarrassing thing she was blackmailing him with. His chewed on stuffed dragon named Dwadon from when he was a toddler or the Hippy the Hopping pot alarm clock? Or worse, his_ other_ pair of pajamas that got mixed with Jezibell's red trimmed robes in the wash. As if he needed more reason to hate Gryffindor. Draco began to regret letting his mother keep memorabilia over the years.

On the other hand, if he _did _manage by some miracle to pull this off, this might put an end to Jezibell's friendship with the Potter out of pure embarrassment. It was an admittedly long shot, but Draco watched his sister ever since she joined Potter's brigade and was disgusted by how well she fit in, wedging herself neatly between Granger and Weasley in the lineup so if you looked at them from the side their heads were like a flight of stairs. Uncanny. In the same reality, during the same space time continuum, Jezibell and Potter loathed each other's guts last year, going through the castle like a pair of warring thunder clouds. Of course Jezibell hated everybody then and Potter thought Malfoys were evil on principle but still, the thought counts. Their new friendship defied rhyme, reason and ulterior motives. As does love. Maybe Mother wasn't off her broomstick after all.

"I'm going over to the Gryffindor table to have a talk with my sister," he informed Pansy and the others, "Message from Mother I'd like to send."

"Ooohohohoo!" squealed Pansy eagerly, "Can I come watch the fireworks?"

"Maybe the next time Pansy - this is a private showing."

Her face fell into a pout, nose scrunched up in the cute way he liked. Draco balled up the letter in his robes and sauntered across the hall. When he reached the Gryffindor table they didn't notice him immediately, still trying to force toast down the Quidditch team's throat. Weasley and Granger were in the middle of giving Potter some words of encouragement to drink some pumpkin juice while Jezibell stirred her full bowl of porridge. Draco planned for some spur of the moment amusement by rapping his knuckles on Potter's head and nasal toning "Knock-Knock". Emmy wrecked it when she spotted him, hissing and rattling her tail, to make most in the immediate area look up. Potter turned around, saw Draco standing behind him and scowled. Stupid cat.

"Why are you here, Malfoy? Going to wish me luck?" Potter was very heavy handed with the sarcasm.

"What makes you think this is about you and your broomstick, Scar brain?" Technically it was, but Draco wasn't about to tell him that, "really, with a head that big it's a wonder you get off the ground. I suppose it's full of helium - that would explain much. Foremost your voice still sounds like it belongs on a chipmunk."

"We repeat," Granger butted in snippily, "Why are you here?"

"Speak of a chipmunk a she shall appear," Draco looked pointedly at Granger's rodent teeth.

Emmy's hissed again, with humor, as if she knew exactly why Draco was here. The Dragonsnaps gnawed on his intestines, threatening to make a comeback.

"No, Emmy," Jezibell spoke, "Dancing penguins are hard to come by."

Potter laughed at the parselmouth in joke and so did Weasley and Granger, though only in response to his. Draco rolled his eyes.

"I would like to talk to my sister if I can get a permission slip signed from all of you."

"Go ahead; make our day" challenged Weasley, "Whatever you need to say to Jez, you say it in front of us."

Jez. Was he the only one here who saw how messed up this was?

"It's a family matter, Weasley. _You _of all people should understand _that."_

Weasley turned a color one generally sees in pasta sauce and Draco smirked.

"Its fine," Jezibell stood up, "I'll go hear it."

She gave a last sentiment in parseltongue to Emmy and Draco led her away from the house tables behind a column.

"So, you have a _nickname_ now," Draco taunted leaning on the stone, "_Jez."_

She didn't answer, letting the slight fall flat. Now that he wasn't annoying the Gryffindors, Draco felt his confidence ebb. He stared at a juggling badger carved in the marble, trying to figure out how to phrase this.

"Okay, so I've been hearing… things about you and Potter." He paused to gauge her reaction.

"_Things_." She stripped the word of value, "Riveting."

"Look maybe you aren't worried, but," Wait, wrong argument. He wasn't going to tell her he was worried, "I was _wondering_ what exactly is going on here. I mean, the friendship thing came out of nowhere and I thought there might be… _sparks?"_

That didn't come out quite right. He folded his arms defensively, trying to pull off an I-don't-really-care-but-you-do stance. She stared at him nonplussed.

"There better be a good punch line, since so far your routine is earning a P for pungent."

"This isn't a joke –"

"Of course it's a joke. Scab and Boil are around the corner waiting to laugh their fat faces off -"

"_No_, look, I'm just here to confirm if Potter's your new boyfriend."

That shut her up. He went on, throwing some of his own attitude in the mix so it sounded real.

"I'm just trying to figure this out, alright. Ever since the Chamber you've been perfect mates. What happened? Did he _kiss _you?"

She glared at him with her new mean look, back arching, fists balling, mouth curling in snarl.

"_Are you serious? _You really think _this,_" She gestured at the Gryffindor table, somehow keeping the effect of shouting while speaking little above a whisper, "Is because of _love?"_

She distorted the word as if it was a terrible abomination. Oh my word, you think this is because of _blood sucking bug-bears? _Are you out of your mind? Time to bail.

"This wasn't _my_ idea, I got a letter from Mother –"

"_Mother_ thinks this is about love."

"Yeah, she wanted me to -"

"She sent _you_ to ask me instead of sending me an _SSSSIIIImmskfrd _letter _herself. _This had _fyxisnk_ better be a joke."

Bad move, shouldn't have mentioned the letter. Draco didn't understand what his sister spat in parseltongue but could decipher the implications easily enough. It was times like these he was grateful he didn't have the patience to learn it with her when Jezibell started going through the archives at age seven. He tried explaining further.

"She thought you wouldn't listen –"

"You can _fyxismirkssss _bet I'm not going to listen to that harpy_._ She can't _ssimskfd look_ at me, much less _write_ to me and she thinks she can still have access to my life? Here's her precious answer, because she cares _so much_. No, I am _ssfxysss not _in _love _with anybody and it's none of your _ssIImskfs _business either way. As for what _is_, if you don't get your _sssmfis _back to your table in ten _fyxismk _seconds –"

"Alright! I'll go, I just asked, you don't have to go all psycho snakehead on me," Draco backed a safe distance away to sneer at her, "Touchy-touchy, aren't we? Think it's because of the weather?"

"Seven. Six."

Jezibell was cooling down, less heavy panting and she stopped spouting gibberish at him. Draco thought it wise to ride the calm before the storm that was sure to hit if he stuck around five seconds longer. He shrugged his hands into his robes, clenching them around the crumpled parchment, and turned around casually while backtracking to the Slytherin side of the hall. Now he needed to get to work on his batna and fake a letter to mother reeking of _Jez_'s lewd behavior. So much for the Agree to Disagreement. That lasted a whole four months. She wished him away too soon though. There was one last thing his sister asked of him before he was out of earshot.

"Does Father know?"

Draco rolled his shoulders giving a look of complete disregard to the question and spoke over them, proving how little he cared what she made of the answer.

"Probably not."

* * *

_Great Hall, November Sixth_

Jezibell walked, _walked, _measuredly, calmly, carefully, mindfully back to Gryffindor table. Father probably didn't know. She couldn't tell if this was a good thing or a bad thing. It was definitely a _some_thing but she could worry or wonder about it now. She had to appease her friends who watched her as she sat down with mixed looks of curiosity and concern.

Ron voiced the former, "So what did he have to say?"

"Some news about Mother's cooking. Father's still on Hagrid's case, pulling strings."

This guesstimation appeased Ron. He nodded and started talking to boy in a later year about how the rain would affect the match. Hermione was a bit tougher.

"That was it?" she asked, looking mildly concerned, "You looked pretty angry for bit. Did he say anything mean?"

"He's my twin brother. if he doesn't get on my nerves every once in a while he's slacking on the job."

Actually Jezibell saw it as the reverse. If she wasn't able to keep her twin brother off her nerves anytime he tried _she _slacking on _her _job. However Hermione had no siblings so this made good sense to her and she ducked into Ron's conversation to comment on how the wind would factor in to flying conditions, clearly having no idea what she was talking about. Harry still stared at Jezibell with cocked eyebrows, and she ignored him. He better not have heard the English content of the conversation, but maybe caught the curses that punctuated it. Those _would_ raise a few eyebrows. They raised Emmy's eyespots. She glanced at Jezibell apprehensively.

"_You are going to tell me what _that_ was about later, right?"_

Jezibell didn't answer. Of course she would, as soon as Harry was on the opposite end of the grounds, preferably wearing several layers of Professor Sprout's industrial strength earmuffs. He looked like he was about to say something then, nothing of course that wouldn't have been a problem for Jezibell to shoot down as she easily did the others. He opened his mouth and Captain Wood stood up.

"All right team, time to go down to the pitch."

'Go down to' might be a bit discrediting. Running pell-mell through a deluge unable to see three feet in front while managing bulky umbrellas that made frequent bids for the atmosphere, was closer to the actual event. Harry split from Ron, Hermione and Jezibell (Emmy, as customary, retreated to common room for the match) when they reached the stadium, their proximity discovered when Ron ran headlong into one of the posts, to join the team in the changing rooms and the trio was herded with the rest of the school to the stands. They found their seats in one of the middle rows, flagged down by Hagrid who was already in position with a large pink umbrella.

There is a definitive trait which applies to all sports spectators, Quidditch or otherwise, who are worth their face paint: perseverance. Never will there be found a hardier people who would willingly sit through the pouring rain and pounding gale, squint through the elements to see the red and yellow blurs zip around the field blind as the audience. Yet the crowd still cheered and roared for each goal, whether they can hear the announcer or not, beaming all the while as if an entire stadium of burning sunray thoughts would make it so. Unfortunately for these delusionists, they did not have the entire stadium. One person still maintained full grasp on the chilling reality that the game was going nowhere.

"This. Is. Hopeless," Jezibell stated testily, "They have to be scoring by chance. Does anybody know the score?"

"I think it's sixty/twenty," supplied Ron, "No, wait. That was us who just scored wasn't it? Seventy/twenty then."

"I reiterate; does anybody _care_ about the score?"

"We've been at it for nearly three hours," said Hermione, shifting Hagrid's umbrella to look over at Jezibell's watch, "How much longer can it be till Harry gets the snitch?"

"I dunno," Hagrid wiped his binoculars for the umpteenth time with damp handkerchief that wanted to be an umbrella when it grew up, "Can' see a darn' thing with these bloody lenses."

"Of course!" Hermione slapped a hand to her forehead and the umbrella spread its wings, attempting to take flight. Jezibell hastily grabbed the handle before another inspiration struck, "I know _exactly _what to do!"

Hermione drew her wand, ducked out of the umbrella's protection and started to the pitch. Her frizzled hair bounced like a bushy tail behind her.

"What's she gone for?" asked Hagrid.

"Some brilliant genius thing as usual," Ron resumed his squinting, Hagrid washed his binoculars and Jezibell hung on tight to their rebellious umbrella. A few minutes later, a time out was called. Hermione returned shortly after, looking smug and the game resumed.

"So, what _was_ your brilliant genius thing?" Ron asked her.

"Water repelling charm on Harry's glasses," She asked for Hagrid's binoculars and demonstrated the effect, "See."

"Well done, Hermione," Hagrid cheered, putting the newly refitted instrument to his eyes.

Brilliant genius indeed. Hermione's little adjustment took the game up to eleven, Gryffindor now having the advantage of sight and Hufflepuff working double time to make up for it. The intensified spirit extended to the crowd, which was devolving to a pack of Neanderthals, soaked to their loin clothes and chanting war cries.

CE-DRIC! Fly that broom! CE-DRIC! Watch him zoom!

Fly HIGH, Gryffindor! Sky HIGH, Gryffindor!

Thunder beat out rhythm above and lightning illuminated game play in bursts. Hufflepuff scored again in a flash, and then there was a shot of a twin smacking the badger in the gut with a well-placed bludger. Wood saved a goal by the tip of his gloves and the Hufflepuff beaters ganged up on Spinnet making her drop the Quaffle on Summerby's head.

"Look, there they go!" a screech rose up from the front row and the school watched a yellow streak dive hard to center field, a smaller red streak in hot pursuit for their invisible quarry. The cheers grew louder, waves of red and yellow sparks made higher, the thunder roared and rattled like a hungry beast, as if the weather was in alignment with crowd's excitement, as if they were feeding the storm.

Then it all went wrong. The energy generated by an ecstatic crowd was abruptly washed aside. Fear, anger and weakness rolled forth in numbing waves. The grey clouds became eyes, coldly regarding Jezibell from above. She shook her head furiously to dispel the image, denying it. Her grip loosening on the umbrella and Hagrid took it from her soundlessly before it could fly over the field, over the gathering of inhumanly tall cloaked figures.

"Harry!" Hermione's finger shook before her as she screamed. A small red player paused to form the iris of the right eye. He slanted sickly, lodged for a moment in time and space. Then he dropped, a hot coal plunging through water streaming bubbles of shock and fear.

"Arresto Momentum!" The silent spell cast by the Dementors was broken by a clear voice. Dumbledore, on his feet in the staff box, had his wand out and extended towards Harry's descent. Harry slowed, falling sluggishly through air as if it were marmalade, hitting the ground with a dull thump that echoed through the stillness. The Dementors converged, sharks finding a wounded guppy in their midst. The other players circled above, uncertain whether to land and help him or stay in safe in the air.

"He's not..." Ron whispered, unable to complete the thought.

"O' course Harry's alright, Dumbledore saved 'im," Hagrid spoke hoarsely.

Jezibell wasn't focused Harry's plight. She was watching the headmaster and what he did next. Dumbledore raised his wand for a second time, a beam of white light shaping itself into something…with wings. His expression was illuminated in the wandlight and even at the distance it was vividly livid. She smiled, recognizing it as kin. Those Dementors were going to be very very sorry they came.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The winged form burst forth from the wand and tore through the still air at the Dementors as an avenging angel. It beat them back with burning swan sized wings, dive bombed with a long neck lashing out at their hoods, motions similar to another bird Jezibell knew well. The Dementors fled into the shadows of the storm untouched by warm light and retreated to their posts. The silver phoenix flew high above and surveyed the field to see if it missed any in its purge. It opened its beak to let out a mute cry and dissipated into the downpour.

Harry still lay in a very lifeless lump on the field. Dumbledore walked briskly down to him, wading through mud to conjure a stretcher and levitated Harry onto it. Now the field was clear for the rest of the teams to come down and the tall yellow player presumed to be Diggory alighted near the commentator. They argued for a few moments, more Hufflepuffs joining them and Captain Wood came over. Most of the stadium was still recovering from the Dementors and trying to make sense of what just happened. Is the game over? Where's the snitch? Do we have to reschedule? The commentator and the two teams settled on their discussion. The former stood up, microphone in hand and belted out loud enough to upstage the rain.

"Hufflepuff wins, having Diggory earned 150 points for capturing the Snitch. Final scores are 180 points to 80, Hufflepuff win." He was bitter in redundancy.

"Come on," muttered Hermione, Jezibell looked around to see Hagrid was collapsing the umbrella and Ron shoving the binoculars in his pockets, "We've got to go to the hospital wing to see if Harry – how he's doing."

Jezibell followed Ron, Hermione and Hagrid down the stairs from the swamped stadium pursuing Dumbledore and the stretcher. They trailed him to the entrance hall, where Jezibell paused to employ a hot air charm on her sopping robes, and continued to the Hospital wing.

"'S he alright? Tha' was some fall," asked Hagrid while Dumbledore gently transferred Harry to a bed.

"Harry will be fine," assured Dumbledore as the matron came over to inspect her patient, "I slowed his descent so he suffered minimal damage. He may be bruised in some places, but on the whole I am confident he will recover fully."

"Oh, too be sure," Tutted the matron, running her wand over his arms and legs, "He's got it all along his right side here, and a bit about the head. It'll heal up quick enough, but I might give him something for shock when he wakes up."

"So what knocked him out?" Ron asked, color returning to his pasty face. "He was doing fine until the Dementors showed."

"I'm afraid that's just it, Ron," explained Dumbledore, "It would seem the Dementors have strong effect on Harry and their presence is what rendered him unconscious."

His expression blackened at the D-word and again Jezibell recognized the deep personal hate for the creatures similar to what she felt whenever they got too close. She wasn't the only one. Hermione also caught the glare from the headmaster and quickly averted her gaze to Harry who was being rubbed over with healing salve. More students arrived at the hospital wing, most of Gryffindor and a few of Harry's inter-house admirers. Dumbledore left to make room for them around Harry's ward and Jezibell followed his lead. The healing salve smell made her head buzz. Once out of the hospital wing, the headmaster walked more briskly down the corridor, purposefully, and Jezibell guessed he was heading to gates of the castle. She'd like to be there for that chat, but said nothing and leaned against a wall outside the ward as Harry's well-wishers filed in.

Harry was going to be fine. He'd suffered only a few bruises that were comparatively nothing to the damage a rogue bludger did the year before. Didn't even break his glasses, Dumbledore had mended and set them at his bedside table. He'd be waking up in few moments to receive a calming draft. No worries. She watched visitors come and go, Madam Pomfrey insured nobody save Ron and Hermione stayed too long, catching snatches of their conversation.

"Hope he's alright, that fall was a doosey –"

"Not so bad. Me cousin Fergis, now _he_ took a dive –"

"Was just terrified, I tell you, terrified - !"

"A _hundred feet_, had to be –"

"I think I saw a flowering shrub near him –"

"The Malfoy girl was. You know, she talks to her cat –"

"I feel awful about it. It just doesn't feel quite fair when your opponent drops out of the sky –"

The Hufflepuff team arrived to pay their respects, Cedric Diggory lamenting to one of his chasers he thought Gryffindor deserved another chance. Jezibell failed to see what he was complaining about. He caught the snitch, won the game, and was big bloody hero to all he surveyed. Frankly he was also very lucky. If the Dementors hadn't showed up when they did Harry would've won. Diggory should count his victories when they came and stop going through all this noble nonsense. His chaser felt the same.

"Come on Ced," he punched his captain's shoulder, "It's not your fault Potter's got half a spine. You won, fair's fair. Even the Gryffindor captain said so,"

The ambitious Captain Wood agreed his team lost, even when his opposite was willing for a rematch? Jezibell felt like pounding her head against the wall. Hard and repeatedly.

"I know, but I still want apologize."

"All right, mate, see you in the common room for the celebration. Annie made a chocolate cream cake shaped like your head!"

The badger left with a few more comments about the cranium cake and Diggory made to go inside, stopping when he saw six people already gathered around Harry's bed. He rested on the opposite wall, waiting for someone to leave, exhausted and dripping.

"How bad is he?"

It took Jezibell a moment to realize he was talking to her.

"Like he was ravaged by flobberworms."

Diggory's jaw dropped, horrified.

Jezibell sighed audibly, "He'll be awake in minutes. Pomfrey's applying healing slave now."

"Oh. That's good," He dried off his robes some with a siphoning charm, then looked back to Jezibell. His expression brightened in recognition. "Hey, you're the girl who clapped at the Sorting. Aren't you?"

To think of all the mad misadventures that happened last year and this is what people remember her for. Jezibell Malfoy, the Girl Who Clapped. She could fix that.

"The Gryffindor who clapped for the Slytherins? Sorry, wrong weirdo. She's someone in first year, probably a muggleborn," Jezibell gave a small snort of derisive laughter, "What an ingénue."

"I think she was pretty brave, making a stand in front of the whole school. Wish I could be known for something big like that, instead of just grabbing the snitch out from under some scared little kid's nose."

Jezibell didn't bother to inform him on the reason Harry fell.

Diggory was talking to himself now, "I think I could, given a chance, but I always seem to be the one tagging along in someone else's idea. I get credit for that, but it doesn't make the victory any more my own."

"Excuse me!" piped a reedy voice. They both turned to see Flitwick coming down the hall, a bulging sack in his spindly arms. Twigs stuck out in his white hair and peaked hat and he appeared very flustered and damp, "Hello, Mr. Diggory, Miss Malfoy, I've salvaged Mr. Potter's broomstick. Now there's not much left to it, but I'm sure he'll want it back."

He held the sack out between Diggory and Jezibell and Jezibell took it, fingers pricking from the rough contents poking through the cloth. She opened the bag and drew out several large chunks of shattered wood, a couple twigs still refuging at the bottom.

"What got to it?" Diggory stared bewildered at the remains. Jezibell was betting werewolves.

"The willow, Mr. Diggory, it was blown into the Whomping Willow. Quite the nasty bout of luck for Mr. Potter, as you can see it smashed the broomstick to pieces and nearly myself as well. Best of wishes to Mr. Potter's speedy recovery, I must be off."

Best wishes received, Harry did indeed recover with speed. Though understatedly unhappy about his broom being ruined forever and losing his first game, he was back on his feet by Monday. Actually, he could have left the hospital wing mere hours after falling, but Pomfrey made him wait till out the weekend just in case he started having PTD and to insure he ate a life time's worth of chocolate within two days. Being bed ridden did not improve his already plummeting self-esteem levels after the second fainting. Jezibell was glad when he finally was released, as she was getting ironically sick of the ward herself. Ron and Hermione being the gallant sort never left his bedside by day and Jezibell was obligated to do the same, despite how dully irritating she found the place. It wasn't as if Harry wouldn't have company if they were elsewhere for a few hours, his ward was frequented often as the Great Hall. Fortunately Monday did come and they rejoined the thriving in health and Oliver Wood at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

"Hey, Jez," asked Harry when Ron and Hermione sat down. Both were sufficiently distracted by the distinctive theme tune from the junior wizards series _Hippy the Happy Hopping Pot_ coming from the other end of the hall to notice. "Can I talk to you? Over there"

Jezibell set her spoon back on a napkin, wondering if she was getting any breakfast this month and followed him over to a nearby column. Same column, she noted, with the dancing badgers Draco took her behind for his message. Hopefully Harry's would less horrific.

"I need an ear," Harry said and Jezibell understood. He wanted her to listen, that was all. "It's about the Grim. I've been seeing it all over since Privet Drive. On a book cover in Flourish and Blotts, the tea leaves, and just before the Dementors came, I swear there was a large black dog sitting in the upper stands. Twice, the times when I saw the dog for real, I've had a near death experience. I didn't tell you, Ron or Hermione, but the Knight bus almost ran me over right after I held out my wand to defend myself incase it attacked. And then falling fifty feet from a broomstick…"

He trailed off, breath coming in short gasps of worry. Jezibell wasn't sure what to say or do. To dismiss his paranoia or feed it further with sympathy acknowledging the situation. She didn't understand why Harry chose to tell only her about this, away from Ron and Hermione. It was just this sort of comforting and sympathizing she was no good at.

"I don't think I'm going mad, and I'm not looking for advice. I'm just worried that this thing is stalking me somehow. I know it's a little - ok, a lot - ridiculous as I've only seen it four times, twice in the abstract, and I don't think there's much I can do about it anyway. I guess I'll just have to wait it out, see if it shows up again, or if this is someone playing trick on me," He shrugged to himself, still not in resolve but satisfied with the problem for now. He looked back her in gratitude, "Thanks, Jez. You've been a great help."

"Anytime," She muttered as Harry went back to the Gryffindor table. Jezibell lingered by the column, baffled. She hadn't said a word and got complemented for her assistance. Repeated sightings of the Grim may not be fatal, but clearly not beneficial to mental health. When she returned to her seat, the porridge was cold.

Lupin was back, smiles all around. He'd been out sick last week and Snape subbed. Widely believed to be the worst DADA lesson the world has ever known. He ordered a multi paragraph essay on werewolves on the unsuspecting third years, insulted Hermione and gave Ron detention. That son of a goblin. Of course, nobody bothered to do the homework except Hermione (When she found the time to do so, Jezibell wasn't quite sure) but they complained to Lupin anyway, demanding a refund. Jezibell was intrigued by the fact Lupin was out around the same time of the Black attack. Coincidence? Undoubtedly so, but she asked Emmy anyway.

"_Definitely sick, he was running a temperature few degrees above the norm and hot cold sweats all through the water monkey lesson. Surprised you failed to notice it."_

"_Harry did mention that Lupin was taking healing potion from Snape the day of the Hogsmeade trip. There's nothing with him after all."_

"_I didn't say that. You were right. There is something off about him, I'm not sure if I can explain it to a human. He's…..wild."_

"_Wild," _Jezibell repeated, matching the adjective to her mental image of the mild mannered professor.

"_Like what you get near the big forest. He sends a message. Large and in charge, top of food chain, smaller animals beware. It's not human and I don't like it," _She rattled her tail a bit, annoyed and, to Jezibell's surprise, scared._ "I can't be sure. Maybe he owns a pet dog. He has a distinct canine smell that was real strong right after the fever. Could be that black bear-sized one I've seen on the grounds lately."_

"_Funny you should mention that. You remember what I told you about Harry and his Grim. You think that dog belongs to Lupin?"_

"_They showed up at the same time, it's true. I haven't gotten close enough to the beast to tell, though. Don't want to get stepped on while he's going about his business, you know? You should ask the others if they've notice anything about Lupin having a dog."_

"_Maybe I will."_

So she tried that, asking indirect questions about Lupin's behavior to see if anybody else found it suspicious. Ron and Harry proved to be duds. Harry essentially repeated his conversation with Lupin over tea and Ron went on about how great it was to have him back, still sore from the detention. Hermione wasn't much better for information but seemed interested in the subject, especially the part about a pet dog. Unfortunately, they happened to be between classes on the Future Schedule at the time and Hermione left mid discussion for Ancient Runes. That happened often.

Classes in general were going much smoother than last year, something that surprised Jezibell seeing as she thought having to compare notes with other people would slow her down. It did the opposite. Her new anti-procrastination mantra went 'If Hermione can do the work for twelve classes with extra credit and complete bibliographies, you can at least write one lousy essay on knights of the middle ages for Wednesday.' It really worked.

The weeks didn't ooze by in lethargy the way they used to. Jezibell felt as though she were having porridge every ten minutes. Every day was a struggle, every assignment a challenge, every argument a war. The cause for this change was not indiscernible. Jezibell hadn't been lying when she said her new friends were most spontaneous people. Around them, things happened. Some highlights were; Harry talking Lupin into giving him anti-Dementor lessons. The billywig that flew up Snape's bum upon Lupin's arrival drove itself deeper to Neville's chagrin. Brown's mother bought her a new rabbit. A call from nature threw a wrench in Hermione's precise schedule, causing some trauma. Crookshanks cautiously continued his pursuit of Scabbers. Ravenclaw defeated Hufflepuff in the end of November match. Lupin was absent from dinner about a week into December. Most of it was fairly irrelevant to Jezibell, but she paid attention anyway. Having friends, doing so seemed purposeful.

Something else purposeful, someone trashed the Muggle Studies room a week after the Ravenclaw match. It was a pretty minor offense; they broke a few models of muggle contraptions in the back and messed up Burbage's papers. Most people assumed the culprit was Theodore, but Jezibell bailed him out with the knowledge that he was in detention with McGonagall the Sunday in question (She knew this because Jezibell herself stayed after class that day to make up work for the strict Transfiguration professor). He wasn't particularly grateful at her intervention, delivering a well thought out rant after class on why he hated the Muggle Studies class, how much he would pay to get out, who he wished an untimely death in it and where on planet earth he would rather spend an hour of his day. Whatever. At least now she knew what he was doing there. Between insulting Jezibell's mother and cursing the professor, Theodore slipped that he initially applied for Divination but Trelawney's class was filled to brim with eager pupils by the time she'd reached his request and he overflowed into Muggle Studies, a class needing one more student to reach the minimum amount for continuation. The school board strikes again!

Mid-December brought sunlight and the Hogwarts Express Permission Slip to go home for the holidays. Jezibell naturally abstained as there was a distinct lack of Christmas cheer around the Malfoy Manor and Harry did the same for similar reasons. Ron and Hermione also remained. This fact Jezibell found odd since they had perfectly fine families who would welcome them with open arms, until she saw the obvious gratitude on Harry's face. Who says blood is thicker than water?

Coming up for the end of term was another Hogsmeade trip, fairly conveniently scheduled for Christmas shopping. Normally, Jezibell found the concept of consumerism contemptible, but she also realized having friends meant an obligation to participate in the gift exchange. She was thinking a fresh stack of _Marvin Miggs _comics for Ron (she saw him reading them now and then, but always the same couple of beat up copies), pheasant quills and ink for Hermione (Her current stock was running dry and blunt), thick fluffy white woolen socks for Harry and a variety box of high grade chocolate bonbons for each to round it out.

The weather had been teetering on the brink of snow for days and finally made up its mind the day of the trip. The grounds were coated with a light powder that was rapidly building up. Jezibell, Ron, Hermione said farewell to a melancholy Harry and left the castle with the rest of the eligible students, snow brushing across their black cloaks. After passing the Dementors, the trio went to Honeyduke's for therapy. Jezibell smelled a tradition in the making, and iron.

"Really?" She skeptically held up a blood flavored lollipop by thumb and forefinger. It came in several varieties, horse, eagle, gorilla and if you were feeling peckish, hippocampus.

"We bought most of the regular candies last time, so I thought we should look into some of the more exotic ones. Those lollipops are probably for vampires, but Harry likes Every Flavor Beans. He's very open-minded and you never know, it might be better than it looks," Hermione peered tentatively into the bag of biting licorice, five knuts a bag. The company in question went down the drain after the Dragonsnap knock off brand shot to the top of the market in months and nearly bought it out. Now here it sat, isolated from the other racks of popular candy, keeping company with the Bloodypops in the back, scrounging for loose shoppers' loose change.

"Not unless you're a cheapskate vampire," Jezibell twirled the red stick absentmindedly.

"How about a Cockroach Cluster?" Ron held the jar up to Hermione.

"Definitely not," said Harry. The Bloodypop flipped from Jezibell's fingers onto the floor.

"Harry!" Hermione jumped back into the licorice in surprise, "What are you – how did you - here, but -?" She yelped between brushing off the snappy sweets.

"Wow, Harry, you've learned how to apparate off screen," said Ron, coming to the obvious conclusion.

"'Course I haven't, there's a secret passage way behind the one-eyed witch – "

"Who?"

"You mean Griselda the Gruesome on the third floor?" Hermione was still confused, but more confident reciting facts.

"Yeah, her. Actually, I should back up. After I left the Great Hall, going up to the tower, Fred and George pulled me aside to talk to me –"

"So _they_ sent you here?"

"No – well, yes. See they gave me this map of Hogwarts, it shows everything that goes on around here; everyone in the castle where they are at that moment on every floor, even the changing staircases and all the secret passage ways in and out of the castle."

"You're joking," breathed Ron, spellbound.

"I'm not, that's how I got here, using a passage way from dear Grizzy's hump that the map showed me. It goes straight to Honeydukes cellar so Filch can't catch me. Great, eh?"

"Brilliant," Ron was two parts exultant and one part enraged, "How come Fred and George never gave something this good to _me?_ I'm their bloody brother!"

"The real question is why they gave something that good to _Harry,"_ Jezibell was unconvinced of the terrible two's innocence in any sort of gift.

"Dunno," Harry was unconcerned, "They said they nicked from Filch's office first year and have been using for their mischief since. Explains a lot, doesn't it? They have it by heart now any way and felt my need was greater than theirs."

Jezibell regarded him wearily, "More likely they wanted to wash their hands of a dangerous object."

"How do you mean?"

"Maybe whatever spells are on it started acting up similar to the Diary and they panicked. Maybe they were too close to being caught by Filch and didn't want him recapturing it. Maybe somebody else figured out they had it and the twins thought if they got a hold of it there would be trouble."

"Sirius Black!" Hermione thought aloud suddenly.

"Maybe not_ that_ much trouble."

"No, but he could be using one of the passages on the map to break into Hogwarts. Harry, you have to hand the map in to McGonagall, the teachers need to know!"

"Hermione, you're mad if you think Harry's going to hand in something that good," blustered Ron. Hermione flushed angrily at his disregard for school security and Harry hastily interrupted.

"He can't be going through a passage; there are only seven tunnels into Hogwarts on the map. Fred and George reckon Filch knows four of them and the other three are caved in, below the Whomping willow and then there's the one I just used. It's not easy to find, and the shop's right over it so unless he knew…."

He trailed off here and Jezibell would have liked him to complete that sentence, but Ron then cleared his throat pointedly. The three looked at him as he gestured grandly at the announcement on Sweetshop door warning customers and Hogsmeade locals of the Dementors patrolling the streets after dark. He saw need to make his point further, explaining that Sirius couldn't break in at night what with the Dementors and Honeydukes owners sleeping above shop. It took this, holiday spirit and some light teasing from Harry, to convince Hermione to let him stay and Jezibell to wait in wings with her 'I told you so'. A little patience, and she would get hers.

They showed Harry around Honeydukes, moving away from the licorice and cockroach sacks. He was enthralled by everything, as if he'd never seen a candy store before. His enthusiasm was amusing but also a bit sad. Jezibell bought the bonbons while Ron and Hermione were showing him the chocolate frog swamp, making sure to find the kind with treacle filling for Harry.

After the sweetshop, they took him to the Three Broomsticks, as the snow was coming down harder and Harry had forgotten his cloak. Hermione lent him a scarf with a hot air charm on it, but it wasn't on par with a tankard of Butterbeer. They took a table in the back, far from the front door and most of the population in bar as to be inconspicuous to students who might notice Harry in Hogsmeade. There was a fireplace next to it with a great evergreen in front that Jezibell levitated to shield their small table, just in case. Ron fetched the drinks, so the barmaid needn't come over, and to see if he might take another pass on her. He dropped it, again, but still returned triumphant with the Butterbeer.

It's interesting to watch someone else inhale the frothy drink instead of being completely focused on your own mug. Harry's flushed cheeks from the cold returned to his usual pallor, his glasses opaque with steam and a goofy smile lulled his face. Unfortunately, these smiles among friends were not fit to last.

Jezibell heard the door to the bar open and watched Harry hurriedly wipe his glasses, eye bugging at something over her head. Ron and Hermione saw the disturbance too and quickly shoved him under the table, the half empty tankard of Butterbeer spilling over him. Jezibell didn't know yet what the problem was but she could guess and muttered an enlargement charm at the pine tree, widening its radius.

Several clumping talkative feet shuffled directly behind her, pulled chairs across the wood floor and settled at the table just behind the tree. Ron and Hermione exchanged rattled looks. Whoever they were, they sounded like a big party, at least by boots, and people who would make great trouble for Harry if they found out he was here. Their voices were hard to define, muddled together upon coming in but sounding adult. Jezibell waited for their orders to reveal themselves. She didn't wait long; a clopping pair of high heels came briskly over to them not five seconds after sitting down. Must be important people. Ministry Wizards? Staff? She didn't dare look. Nothing attracts attention like eye contact.

"A small Gillywater," offered the voice of the barmaid.

"Mine," A hard female voice, probably McGonagall. She _would_ send Harry, Ron and Hermione up in panic. Jezibell kept an ear out for other familiar vocals.

"Four pints of mulled mead,"

"Ta, Rosmerta," said Hagrid. His gruff tone was recognizable anywhere, and even if he hadn't spoken was identifiable purely by his order.

"Cherry syrup and soda with ice and an umbrella,"

Someone "mmmmed" in response unhelpfully. It was a thin 'mmmm' accompanied with smacking of lips, but what are you supposed to take from that? Going with the staff trend, Jezibell guessed at Sprout for enthusiasm.

"- and the red current rum, Minister,"

Minister! As in Fudge, Cornelius, the fearlessly pudgy leader of wizarding Britain? Ron appeared just as shocked. He was the only other person at or under the table fully understanding who was sitting behind them. The Minister of Magic offered Rosmerta a seat and drink to which she complied. The heels clip-clopped away and back again, followed by a second chair.

"So what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?"

Yes, what indeed? Jezibell strained to hear for clues as to how long this little party planned to stay. It could put a hefty wrench in Harry getting back to castle before anybody noticed his absence. If it went on too long, Jezibell would have to make a distraction, maybe to do with homework for Hagrid's class. If the Minister remembered about the hippogriff case, he might make the connection if given Jezibell's surname, Hagrid would undoubtedly make enough fuss to run a three ring circus around the Broomsticks unnoticed.

"What else, my dear, but Sirius Black," the Minister told the table quietly after a pause, "I daresay you heard what happened up at the school on Halloween?"

They went on about the horror of Black and the Dementors for a bit, and Jezibell gleaned new information when a reedy "hear, hear" came from the mysterious mmmmer, confirming him as Flitwick. The conversation turned to Sirius and his school days.

"Do you remember who his best friend was?" quizzed McGonagall.

"Naturally, never saw one without the other did you? Oh, they used to make me laugh," Rosmerta tinkled like breaking china. "Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter."

Beneath the oak of the table came a hard** thu–**_**lunk**_. Hermione's back stiffened and Ron jumped in his seat, staring frightened over Jezibell's head to see if any had heard. Jezibell calmly put a hand under the table.

"_Cup_," She muttered in parseltongue, realizing she didn't know the sounds for 'tankard' or 'mug'. Ask Emmy later. She felt the slippery handle pressed to her palm and lifted it heavily back on the table, setting it down gently as possible for a cumbersome object. Best to keep it out of Harry's hands in case of more surprises.

The adults talked some more about Sirius and Harry's father. The two seemed to have been quite the class clowns in their day and so close of pals Potter named Sirius his best man at his wedding. Jezibell was very glad to already have removed the mug from Harry's hands. It was inevitable, considering the subject matter, that they discuss Sirius's part in the Dark Lord's downfall. They went through the standard stages of disbelief, grief relapse, survivor's guilt, righteous fury and satisfaction over hearing how he betrayed the Potters and destroyed thirteen muggles plus Peter Pettigrew. Jezibell usually saw these emotions in a slightly altered form. Disbelief as to how he infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix so well. Grief for one of the Dark Lord's most talented rats landed himself in Azkaban. Guilt for not trying to find the Dark Lord and kill Harry as Sirius was putting all efforts towards now. Fury that he managed to get himself caught in the first place. Finally, admitted relief that the Dementors would soon be putting an end to Sirius's crusade before he succeeded in bringing Dark Lord back to punish them all for lack of faith. Jezibell had the procedure long memorized.

The intriguing discussion ended when McGonagall reminded the Minister he had a meeting with Dumbledore to be getting to and the party left without much ado, heels clip-clopping back to Butterbeer barrels. Ron and Hermione stared struck as the door swung shut, sending a whuf of bitter cold air across the room.

"Harry," Hermione breathed in despair and she and Ron ducked down under the table to take a look at him. Jezibell pulled her chair back against the tree to join them. Ron and Hermione gazed concernedly at a hollow Harry who was hunched in a sticky puddle of spilled Butterbeer. Jezibell cleared her throat.

"Ah, time to go. We've done enough shopping for one day."


	11. Hippogriffs and Hypocrites

Hippogriffs and Hypocrites

_Gryffindor Common Room, December Nineteenth_

"But what should we do?"

"Been up there for hours, maybe he caught a cold wandering in the snow with no cloak. Did Emmy check?"

"Emmy checked."

"He must feel awful. Did he say anything before bed?"

"He was dead asleep when I came upstairs."

"You are sure? It would be like him to stew over something like this."

"It's nearly noon, I should go wake him –"

"No, let him sleep. He'll be less likely to do something stupid if he's well rested."

"How would we stop him if he did, we have no idea –"

"What else can we do?"

"What else can _he_ do?"

Ron and Hermione spoke quietly while pretending to eat chocolate frogs, do homework and play chess. Every so often one would cast a glance up the ominously vacant left side staircase. By now the knights and pawns had long since beaten each other to pulp while Jezibell observed in an arm chair by the fireplace and finished _Two A.M._, book eight of the Time After Time series. Jezibell was going to have to order the next installment as the Hogwarts library stock had a gap between eight and thirteen.

She at least got things done that morning. Earlier, after a deserted breakfast, Jezibell stopped by the owlery to order her Christmas presents for the trio. Then she went back to the common room to finish some holiday homework and sent Emmy on half hour trips to the boy's dormitory to insure Harry was still breathing. She considered having the cat swipe the yet unseen Map of Mysteries for curiosity's sake, but thought better of it. Hermione would see and disapprove and Ron would argue and Jezibell really didn't want to deal with them. Not without Harry there. She took a walk to the library at ten to look up the little known second meaning of the number twenty two for Hermione's Arithmancy and checked out the eighth book as an afterthought.

Now she waited with Ron and Hermione. Waited and played with the feathered tassel on a black velvet bookmark with green and red weaving and golden bells embroidery. Seasonally appropriate, it was something Dobby sent as a Christmas present her first year away. Despite serving a firmly pagan household, the elf had a secret fascination with the holiday that Jezibell shared. She ruffled the partridge plumage then smoothed and ruffled, smoothed again but slightly off and crumpled. Emmy yawned on the opposite side of the hearth from Crookshanks. He cringed, and Emmy arched her eyespots at Jezibell.

"_You're worried,"_ She flicked her tongue.

Jezibell rolled her eyes and smoothed out the feathers, _"Not."_

Emmy narrowed an eye and scratched an ear._ "Right,"_ She switched scratching to the carpet, twitching an ear toward the left stairs, _"You sorry?"_

"_No," Jezibell_ rubbed her head wearily and jerked it at the most awkward chess game ever played, "_They're job."_

"_You will be,"_ Emmy laid her head knowingly on her paws and rattled her tail with a sudden _sh-h-h-h-h-h_. That was the signal.

"Guys," Jezibell spoke in English, flicking the bells so they ding-dong danced. Ron and Hermione flinched. "He's awake."

Harry came down the steps one at a time, massaging under his glasses to remove sleep from his eyes and decently dressed in seasonally appropriate clothes. A good sign of mental stability. The three hadn't been able to talk to him about what they had heard in Hogsmeade at the crowded dinner table last night, and he went to bed quickly after that. He didn't appear to have made the most of the extra hours. There were hollow sags under his eyes that weighed his thin face down and his hair was even more disheveled than usual. A less definitive disturbance was the hard look to him, mainly about the eyes which were intensely bright despite having just gotten up. If Jezibell saw a person wearing the same look on the street, she'd start to back away slowly.

"Where is everyone?" He asked, eyes darting around the room as through expecting missing persons to jump out of a corner.

Ron informed him it was the first day of winter break and Harry sank into the chair next to Jezibell, turned pointedly away from her. Something was up. She tried to make eye contact with Ron and Hermione who could see his face, but they were too busy watching Harry.

"You don't look to well," Hermione scrutinized.

"I'm fine," he clipped.

"_Not even in your dreams," _said Emmy derisively. His fist clenched.

Jezibell hissed a quick _"You be quiet_."

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. Time to catch the curse.

"Harry, listen, you must really be upset about what we heard yesterday, but the thing is you mustn't do anything stupid," Hermione leaned towards him in earnest.

"Like what?" As if he didn't know. As if he hadn't been mulling the news over in his head all night long, leaking a stench of anger and sadness on an empty stomach Emmy claimed she smelled/tasted (There was a word for the senses combined in parseltongue didn't translate directly to English) during her checkups.

"Like trying to go after Black," Ron barked more forcibly than Hermione. It was a Good Obliviator-Bad Obliviator routine. That made Jezibell the security guard.

"You won't, will you Harry?" Hermione wheedled.

"Because Black's not worth dying for," Ron concluded.

Harry's shoulders tensed, "Do you know what I hear and see every time a dementor comes near me?"

His question felt dangerously out of the blue, putting all three interrogators on edge.

"I hear my mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort," his voice escalated, cracking at 'mum', "And if you heard your _mum _screaming like that, just about to be killed, you wouldn't forget in a hurry. If you found out someone who was her friend _betrayed_ her and sent _Voldemort_ after her - !"

"The dementors will catch Black," Hermione protested, "He'll go back to Azkaban, and - and serve him right."

Harry scowled, "It doesn't matter to him. You heard Fudge; it doesn't affect him it does for like normal people. It isn't punishment for him like it is to others."

"So, what are you saying?" asked Ron nervously, "You want to kill Black –"

"ENOUGH!"

Security breach. They all turned startled to Jezibell, who was on her feet, unable to stand the exchange any longer.

"Stop beating around the main issue like idiots," She spoke at normal conversation level having gotten their attention, "You sneak out and find Sirius. He finds you more like, but whichever. What now?"

She achieved her intended effect. Harry looked a trifle shaken confronted by the possibility.

"Something, I'd –"

"You'd _what_? Levitate bricks on his head?"

"If he hasn't got a wand –"

"You don't know that, and even if you caught him stark naked it wouldn't matter. You're a third year sweating over his Charms practical. You don't know a thing about killing. "

"Right, I don't know a stinking thing and you know all there is to it."

That made no sense. What, did he think she murdered someone? "To what?"

"Don't act stupid," Harry balled his fists, "_You knew_. All along you knew how he betrayed them and you never thought _to mention it_ _to me_!"

"Where –?"

"Draco_, your brother_, let slip in potions," he took an aggressive step forward, "He said if it was him he'd hunt Black down himself, he'd want revenge. Not something you can just forget about. So why did you? Why did you keep me in the dark for three months?"

"You told us you knew everything," Jezibell spoke in cool nonchalance to counter his fury. Over his shoulder Ron and Hermione wore similar expressions of shock at the outburst. She couldn't expect support from them, "You told me you knew and were fine with it, and I didn't think to press it."

"_Ha_," He gave a short sarcastic laugh to her face, the type that sounded painful, "You think that I'd be able to live with that if I knew? That I could skip along with my days while the person who betrayed and _murdered_ my parents ran free. Don't you know me _at all_?"

They were toe to toe now, glowering green on grey. No, apparently she didn't know him, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Only Cares When It's About Him. She stepped backwards towards the portrait hole, letting the silence speak for itself. It opened a cavern between them into which their mutual respect plummeted.

"Sirius Black killed thirteen muggles and a wizard in one blow," she said after a moment, "What he did to you changes nothing. Your parents are just two more names on the list. Try not to be a third."

She snatched her winter cloak and scarf from where they were drying by the fire, pushed the portrait frame open and stormed out.

Listening to her boots clomp echo through the empty corridors and still having plenty of glares left, Jezibell considered where exactly she was storming off to. Someplace she could be without human company but still have a sufficient distraction. Something to give the evil eye to. Her feet showed her the way, making a beeline for Hagrid's hut.

Snow was still falling and Jezibell blazed through an average of two feet per step, no heat charms necessary. When she reached the house, which was growing a neat dome of snow and icicles, she waded around the back, circling the place to see if the hippogriffs were in the corral. They weren't, the place was empty but for soft drifts of irritatingly peaceful piling snow. Now what?

Jezibell vehemently kicked a fallen icicle at the house. At the tinkling sound, a deep welling groan came from the dark hut. She shifted the icicle back to where it had been with her boot, before logic caught up with her actions and she went over to inspect a dark window. She peered through the frosted glass, but achieved only foggy shadows for her curiosity. Putting her ear to the glass was more profitable, for frostbite and information. The groaning was distinguishable as sobs. "I'm sorry, Beaky…Beaky… Had so much to live for… ohhh…"

Two and two make hippogriff trial. Hagrid must have gotten the condemning letter from the ministry. Or Beaky died a poisoned ferret and Hagrid now got a reply saying he was off the hook. The latter would be unlikely, but Jezibell didn't put it past possible. She returned to the front, to return to the castle and let Hagrid drown his sorrow and the hut in peace when she saw three figures shuffling down her trench.

"I'm here to ask Hagrid about why my parents died, not to talk to you," groused Harry when Jezibell met them on the makeshift path. She pulled the scarf off her mouth and blew a puff of fog at him.

"Melodrama later. There's a bigger problem."

He rubbed fog off his glasses while Ron and Hermione behind him looked at her hopefully. Anything to keep Harry from going off the deep end with a deadly vendetta.

"Yeah, and do you feel like telling us what those are?" He demanded, once done window cleaning.

Jezibell didn't speak as a loud blubbering like a dying elephant sounded from the hut behind them.

"Oh no," Hermione understood instantly. She was quicker than Ron.

"Is that Hagrid?" Ron's face was flushed with cold and worry, "What's wrong with him? What's happened?"

"Did you tell him I figured it out about Black?" Harry second guessed, "That I know he was in on it too?"

"Oh, never mind _that_ now!" Hermione interrupted, pale and annoyed, "He got the letter."

The hut was a mess, but that was expected. There was fresh spillage of something that smelled stronger than Butterbeer on the floor. The sofa was nearly folded in half and stuffing fluffing out into the sticky liquid, an accidental sponge. Buckbeak himself sat in the corner gnawing on a bloody fur wad. The spools of unicorn hair and other ends of odds Hagrid collected from his trips to the forest , usually in a personal order in nooks and shelves around the hut, sported frazzled neglect. Food cupboards swung open and vacant on their hinges. The flobberworms that were the subject of Care of Magical Creatures classes and methods of wandless torture nowhere to be found. It was nothing compared to Hagrid.

Hagrid let them see the letter after nearly breaking Harry's neck in a hug. It was brief and fairly to the point. Hagrid wasn't sacked but his hippogriff had an axe over its feathered head. There would be a trial in April to tie up any loose ends and give Hagrid a chance to have his weeping done. All very tidy and business; dear Mr. Hagrid, board of governors sign here, upholding the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, your bird makes doorknobs look lively – etc. The sofa shuddered out its innards as Hagrid explained how Dumbledore couldn't help him with the case; he was on his own. Hermione comforted dutifully and Harry restrained himself from bringing up Sirius. Good boy. Ron made tea.

Jezibell did what she could by appearing in agreement to the trio's words of kindness and sipping her tea (which wasn't half bad, if a bit sweet for her taste). She could already hear the funeral march. No way could Hagrid alone win a court case against her Father. Even if Father wasn't bribing the judge, blackmailing the school board and sucking up with huge donations to Saint Mungo's, he could still have Hagrid beat all on his own with none of the top notch lawyers he was sure to hire. A far safer bet would be disguising Buckbeak as a dementor and smuggling him out of Hogwarts to live in the Bahamas. She choked when Harry suggested the former.

"Of course we'll help you, I'm sure we can win this case, even without Dumbledore, if we try. I know we'll _all_ help."

"Yeah, Hagrid," concurred Ron, "We'll do all we can. You ok with the tea, Jez?"

"I can start gathering research from the library," offered Hermione, "the Disposal Committee won't know what hit them. Here, Jezibell, take a napkin."

Hagrid smiled through his beard and tears and the trio looked to Jezibell, expecting her support. Well, not so much with Harry. He still housed plenty of contempt and doubt for her. But he really believed they could win. She wiped her mouth and bit her burnt tongue.

"Can't wait to start."

* * *

_Ronald Weasley_

It would be easy. The trio had done loads madder stuff before, even in first year they combed through the library to find out about Nicholas Flamel. Of course turned out Harry cracked the code from the back of a Albus Dumbledore chocolate frog card, a fact Ron was proud to remind Hermione time to time, but that's not the point. Point was they knew the Hogwarts library. Hermione lived for researching, homeworking and whatever else she did in it (Ron didn't believe anyone possibly could have _that_ much homework) and he and Harry went there too when pressed. And this round they had an extra pair of eyes. Jez wasn't the bookworm Hermione was, but she seemed clever enough in her own way. How hard could looking up dead Hippogriffs be?

"I never thought of research as back breaking work," Ron commented as the four returned to Gryffindor tower, balancing huge volumes on Hippogriff history and manticore mauling in their arms. They unloaded onto a side table in the common room.

Hermione picked the topmost one, "We should simply read through the whole list, top to bottom, and take notes on anything useful. That way we can gather an optimum amount of information."

"You're mad if you think I'm going to read _all _of this –"

"Can we just get started?" asked Harry, roughly grabbing a brown volume about hippogriff breeding rights. The man was still on the Sirius Black thing, but one of the upsides to Hagrid's case is it would give him something else to think about besides revenge for his family. There is really no way to put that so it doesn't sound sad and melodramatic.

Ron shrugged and took a slimmer blue one. Skimming, that's what he would do. The title read Beastes to be Condemnede. He opened it and scanned the introduction. Though hard to tell as it was written in ye olde indescipherableth English, the author seemed to have a very bad attitude toward "interesting" creatures. She said it was "Thy duty doth magick masters to slaughteth thy beaste, daemon moste wikked". Ron wondered how it even wound up in their pile seeing the title.

"Ok, which one of you checked this rubbish out? I know we're doing a thorough search, but I doubt we'll find anything helpful in a book that wants to start chopping animal heads the sooner the better."

He pushed the book to the end of the table and Jez pushed it back.

"Keep it," she said, "The opposition will be quoting from something like. Know the enemy."

"Thought we had you for that," Harry wasted a glare on Jez as she kept her eyes on the text. They hadn't exactly made a proper apology, and Ron couldn't blame him much for still being angry. True, he needed some sense slapped into him after considering _going to find Black_, but Jez had kicked him in the gut by saying his parents were just another casualty. Harry snorted, "So what are you so focused on, then?"

As Harry pointed it out, Ron looked over and saw Jez had already copied down half a page of notes from a large binder. He shifted over to see the cover and made out _Wizengamot Records 1950 – 1990._

"Wow, you've done a lot," Hermione craned her neck to looking over at her notes, "What do the names and dates mean?"

Jez swiftly shifted the parchment aside, "Means you're doing this wrong. Research is useless if you can't put it into note cards and defensive statements that the jury will buy."

"Well, that doesn't sound so hard," Ron didn't see why she was making it out to be so difficult, "all we do is write what we learn from these books about Hippogriffs and their rights and say it was all Malfoy's fault."

"Exactly," agreed Hermione, "There are laws against persecuting an animal if it was knowingly provoked. I looked it up when Hagrid first said there might a hearing. We witnessed it; we can surely prove that much. We'll show the Wizengamot we're right."

"Right isn't enough," said Jez, "We're minors; we can't leave the school without special permission and Ron's the only one who might be able to get that in time. Hagrid will be alone with his papers, _our _papers, with the lawyers who are paid to know every trick in the book. Think of as a game of chess," She slid a glance at Ron, "But instead, we have to guess at _everything_ the prosecution will try."

Ron thought about the comparison. In chess, it's part of the strategy to have a ready plot for how you expected your opponent to react to your moves. You couldn't really play the game proper otherwise. There are loads of different combinations that you string together, depending on what the other player did, and hoped he didn't catch you at it. But having to play a game where you had to guess everything would be mental. You can't do it, unless you're Dumbledore or someone.

"All right, what do you want us to do then?" Harry asked, "You make winning sound impossible."

"Not impossible, but we need to hold nothing in reserve if we aim to win. We're up against adults, so we need to think like adults and when adults enter a court room all bets are off. And Harry's right; that's what you've got me for."

After that, Jez was given charge of the Buckbeak project. Ron didn't mind, it was clear she knew what she was talking about and they hadn't a clue. She divided them into sections of the case; Harry dug in the library archives for more information keeping him busy, Hermione organized this information into papers and general notes and Jezibell wrote Hagrid's note cards against her dad based on them. Ron's job was to feed these cards Hagrid and saw firsthand their cunning. They were very short and simple, when Hagrid read them he sounded smart but he also sounded like him. They were stern, shaming Wizengamot for condemning an innocent animal while playing on the jury's emotion by going on about his fuzzy wuzzy friend and all the great times they'd had. A those bits, Jezibell instructed Hagrid to adlib, make it real, while having him sneak little fraises from magical creature activists in there. According to Jezibell, there was trouble going on at the ministry about werewolf rights, a law or something was passed that attracted backlash. Odds were on someone in court would be sympathetic to this larger issue. Jezibell planned to tie it in to Buckbeak's persecution by snowballing Hagrid's small case in to something large, nasty and political. Brilliant stuff, explained loads about the Malfoys too. If Jez got all she knew about law and disorder from her dad, no wonder Lucius Malfoy won all his cases.

"I don't see why you can't just post your dad and explain the whole thing," He asked her after reporting how Hagrid was coming along after a few days. "I know he's evil and all with suspending Dumbledore and everything, but he'd listen to family, right?"

"He's not my dad," Jez corrected while cross-referencing a couple of books about hippogriffs and training, "He's my father."

"Ok, so _don't _ask him. I was only wondering since you said we shouldn't hold stuff in reserve."

She refilled her quill and Ron leaned on a nearby shelf, uncomfortably waiting out the silence for the next set of notes. He caught himself absentmindedly leafing through one of the doorstops Jez had put aside and hastily set it back down.

"It's not going to be enough," she muttered to herself.

"You're out of ink?"

Her eyes cut a vicious look through the bangs that said _moron._

"You mean the case. Right. I wouldn't worry about it. I mean you should worry about Buckbeak, but don't think we're doomed. Did you get word back from the Prophet about making the article?"

She nodded, "A rejection."

"Well, you said it yourself. It's going to be hard, but not impossible."

"I lied. Of course it's impossible. My father is popular in the ministry for his pocketbook. The Prophet rejected my scoop because he is paying them to keep quiet. Without a ministry backer, we are mute."

"You've got money."

"It's not _my_ money."

"Harry's does too."

"Not enough."

"You don't even –"

"I do."

"I could post _my_ dad if it would help," Ron felt he should pat himself on the back for coming up with the idea, "He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, practically invented most of the job. I'm sure he'd want to help Hagrid."

"Don't," She spread the notes out on the table. She had said it helped her see how they would be ordered for the interrogation, "Publicity is one thing. If this turns into Weasley vs. Malfoy your father could lose his job."

She didn't need to tell him how deep and wide a problem that would be.

"If you don't think we can do this, why try so hard? Don't pretend you're not. Even while we're talking right now you're working like a house elf on probation. Seems a load of effort for something you don't believe in."

"It's not me, it's Harry. Since the project started he hasn't spoken about Sirius."

"So this whole case, for you, is just an elaborate scheme to keep Harry safe? That's… nice, in a weird way. That you'd go through all this for a friend. But what happens if you're right and Hagrid loses the case with Buckbeak in the end. He'll be even angrier than before."

"Not at me."

That kind of killed the heartwarming factor. Hermione came over then, taking the conversation by force with several large rolls of parchment in battalion.

"Jezibell, while I was working on the essay, I also wrote down everything Hagrid has to say to your father. It's all right here," she held out her work earnestly, "It starts with a summary of our side of the case, then quotes Hippogriff Training For Dummies _here_, to show how you're never supposed to insult one. In the next paragraph, he'll tell them how their point of view is flawed with a reference to this essay _here_ and –"

"Read it," Jez interrupted, shuffling through her cards.

"'Mr. Malfoy, I am afraid this case has been called on a very grave misunderstanding. You accuse an animal of hostilely attacking your son without considering why this may have occurred. Animals do not behave irrationally, there is a process of cause and effect; in this case your son was the cause. Do not presume that at the beginning of the lesson that I neglected to explain –

"Stop."

"Thank you," said Ron, "I was getting a headache. Honestly, you think I'm going to get Hagrid to repeat all that waffle?"

"It's not waffle, I wrote it exactly how you're supposed to write an essay – it had a good introduction and a thesis, which you didn't even let me get to. Why'd you stop me after five seconds?"

Jezibell tapped a book with her wand, sending it back to its shelf, "That's how much time my father is going to give Hagrid before he interrupts. Anything beyond is moot."

"So I did all this work and you just throw it away for the sake of _brevity_?"

"No. Hagrid will still need a defensive statement separate from the oral testimony. Shouldn't be hard to convert, it has to be long enough so the judges won't bother reading it and assume accuracy." Jez handed the fresh stack of notes to Ron and left the library without further ado.

"I don't believe her!" Hermione huffed, "She refuses to even _consider_ my input."

"How dare she?" Ron rolled his eyes while checking the new notes. These ones had to do with flipping the case around and focusing it on Draco Malfoy's problems with following directions, "Not wanting to listen to that novel of joy. Hagrid's supposed to have _notecards _Hermione, not the works of Shakespeare. Jez was handling it fine, why'd you have go and to stick your nose in?"

"I wasn't sticking my nose, I was trying to help. Frankly she could use it; this case is becoming much too personal for her."

Ron snorted a laugh, "You're joking, right? Jez doesn't care about anything enough for it to be personal."

"Really, Ron, don't you pay attention at all? She volunteered to head a case against her _father_. How can it be _but _personal?"

Ron thought about what Jez had just told him; about doing all the work to get Harry off her back. Being Jez, it made sense.

"I dunno, maybe you're reading to deep, Hermione. Jez seems the type to have her own agenda with this sort of thing."

"That's exactly what _I'm_ saying. She's making the whole case revolve around evening the score with her father. I'll bet she has a complex over him, probably to do with why she lies so much."

"She lies because she spent a year where her only friend was a cat. I know what this is really for. You're trying to make this all about _you_. You always have to be the one who does everything, don't you? Just come out and say it, you want Hagrid to read your essay."

"That's not the point!" She spluttered, "All I'm saying is Jezibell should be open to advice and not make Hagrid's case all about _her_."

"This is just like the Trelawney thing, isn't it? You can't stand admitting someone might be more experienced at something than you are!"

"Ugh!" Hermione set down the parchment in her hands so she could throw them up in frustration before gathering the essay up again, "I don't know why I even bother telling you these things!"

She stalked out of the library with unraveling parchment brushing her knees and leaving Ron behind her. He didn't know either.

Outside the Land of Cobwebs, Christmas had been brewing in the castle for days now. Orders for presents were taken out. Ron was eighty five percent sure Harry was getting him a Chudley Cannons themed card pack. He spent some time figuring out what he was getting for people too. Ginny wanted a Holly Head Harpies poster and he saw an advert in the Prophet. Fred and George were getting cockroach clusters along with Hippogriff Tracks fudge as false peace offering (it had truffles that disguised themselves quite cleverly as chocolate chips. The twins hated truffles) Percy and Charley liked their licorice, the more bitter and rubbery the better. Bill was being sent a pair of very cool and weirdly cheap sunglasses that literally showed fire in your eyes. Mum needed a new apron and Dad new gloves, so Ron took a used pair and sewed "World's Best Mum/Dad" on them (Hagrid was teaching him how to do it manually after the notecard sessions at it was actually pretty fun) Harry and Hermione were easy; books and Quidditch things. As for Jez, who knew what she liked. Ron had exhausted his Father Christmas budget already and what do you buy for someone who probably already has three of it? He'd ask Hagrid sometime. If the big guy could find the right gift for Dumbledore he should have an idea.

The rest of Hogwarts was at its usual maximum Christmas cheer capacity. The house elves had to be working overtime to make such hearty and delicacies in the days leading up. Coming down to a breakfast of hot cinnamon buns on Christmas Eve, Ron could smell the feast of yet to come and a sticky sweet bun. He inhaled two and encouraged Harry to join him for a third.

"Cheer up already, mate," He nudged Harry who was flipping morosely through the racing broom catalog Wood had given him, "It's Christmas Eve! Who knows? You might get a broomstick tomorrow with the rest of the haul. And if you don't, at least you'll have the benefits of good nutrition."

"Nutrition?" scoffed Hermione, who was stroking Ole' Squashnose in her lap. They and Jez were the population of the Gryffindor table, save a couple of second year girls Ron didn't know. Hermione said it was because most people wanted out of the castle incase Sirius Black tried to get in again, but Ron didn't see the trouble. Hogwarts was the safest place save Gringotts, according to Hagrid and he should know. The attack on the Fat Lady was fluke and it failed, Black didn't even get in the dormitory and security was upped since then.

"Why, of course. Cinnamon buns deliver the perfect quotient of all major food groups for healthy Quidditch players. You've got your bread, your nuts, your icing, your cinnamon sugar and marmalade, if you want it." He demonstrated, holding the pastry up and pointing to each component in turn. Hermione rolled her eyes at him and scooped a dollop of marmalade for her toast. Her cat filched a bit a sausage from a nearby platter. He brushed the plate of cinnamon buns with his tail, giving them a glaze of orange hair.

"Does he _have _to be at the table?" Ron ripped out the outer ring of his bun.

"Yes, yes he does." Hermione scratched behind the ginger tom's ears smugly. Scabbers was up in the dormitory, but the cat still bugged Ron. He could've sworn the beast smirked at him, "Emmy's always at meals, why not Crookshanky?"

"Emmy isn't exactly what you'd call a normal cat. No offense," he added for Jez's benefit. A sudden strangled hooting noise came from above them and Ron looked up in time to see two post owls collide midflight.

"In coming!" Harry lifted the broom catalog over his head as a quick method for shelter from the feathers and ice raining down. Ron hastened to protect the cinnamon buns, sliding his napkin over the plate, making a little tent. One of the owls was knocked out by the crash and with a weak hoot echoing kamikaze fighters before him, Errol dive-bombed the breakfast table.

"Why is it always my porridge?"

Ron put his elbows back on the table carefully, feeling the gross squish of warm porridge that sprayed everywhere when Errol hit Jez's bowl. Good thing he did, really, least he was still alive. Or could be. Jez didn't pay the owl much mind as she extracted the small envelope from her breakfast, examined it, and held it out to Ron, dripping with oat paste and non-amusement. He took it from her gingerly, and made to slit it open.

"Let's hope this is good," Hermione was having difficulty siphoning the sticky porridge out of her curly hair. The cat had fled, having been given the same treatment. Ron was sure to give the mistress the smuggest smile in his arsenal.

The cause for the madness was the Weasley Christmas card, fittingly enough. When Ron opened it up, the paper did a polka-waltz across the table, belting out in the voices of Mum and Dad "O Joy Come to You". A heavenly host of stick angels tooting what could be horns or bananas twirled in the air and red and green confetti mixed with the porridge and everyone's hair. The paper ended with a "Merry Christmas, from the Weasley home, and have a happy new year!" and folded itself smartly in the palm of Ron's hand.

"Your parents are such nice people," Hermione popped her toast crust in her mouth, "It's really good of them to send homemade cards around. My parents always use store bought, but I think it's much more personal and special if you make it yourself. I'm going to need shower. How _do_ you eat this stuff every day, Jezibell? Will he be alright?"

She poked the feathery lump in Jez's bowl. Errol stirred briefly, opening his orange eyes enough so they knew he was more of less ok, before collapsing back in the oat dregs. Jez pushed the dish aside with the tips of her fingers as Hermione left. Harry nodded and turned back to his manual, this time minus the moody scowl. Jez continued to stare at Ron. At it.

"It's the family Christmas card," he told her a bit defensively, handing it to her, "have a look. Mum sends one around to everyone we know about this time. My delivery must be one of the later ones. That's why Errol's so tired."

Not just because he's pathetic, and my family's too cheap to get a new owl. She opened it, receiving an extra toss of confetti in the face, some of it sticking to the oatmeal on her hair and nose.

"How do you make one?" she asked without looking up.

"You get a sheet of paper, draw some Christmas stuff, and use an animation charm, put in a recording and few handfuls of confetti. Blimey, haven't you seen a Christmas card before?"

She nodded, "Worked in a factory for them."

She gave him back the card.

Later on his way to the library (This hippogriff business had him sounding just like Hermione), Ron passed her at the chess table in the common room working on something. He thought it was for the case until he heard Jez mumbling "Anima papyrus" while tapping a piece of regular paper, not parchment. He went to look over her shoulder and saw she was making a card of her own. It wasn't a bad job, though Jez wasn't much of an artist. She'd drawn an evergreen of scribbles on the cover and multicolored circular shapes she was making to dance around it and had two squares in blue and orange with gold crisscrosses over them at its base. The blue one said '**To Father'** the orange one '**And Mother**'. She then opened it up and started on the inside. She printed a deliberated '**Happy Holidays**' as he watched and added a shaggy wreath with some spiky boughs of holly and more ornaments.

"Are you going to add a song?" Ron asked without thinking.

"Can't sing," She told him in her low monotone. It was likely the most truthful thing he'd heard from her.

"Good call. Maybe you should order something for them, say a pair of earrings for your mum."

"My mother has five hundred and sixty eight pairs of earrings for every day of the year and for each of her ball gowns," Jez dotted dull red berries and Ron felt his face mimic the color, "I'll stick with the card."

Jez paused a moment then, holding her quill aloft a spot in the bottom right corner where you put your name. She seemed unsure what came next.

"You're supposed to say you love them and it's from you," Ron hinted to her a bit sarcastically and a drop of ink stained the paper. She took a down stroke from the glob and wrote in rapid cursive that was nearly illegible, especially with a lot of smeared ink at the start. Jez blew on the card, helping her sentiment of Christmas cheer dry and passed it over her shoulder to Ron in the indifferent way you do papers to someone behind you in class. He took it, flipping front to back quickly. He stopped at the ending cursive, unable to tell if it said '**From Jezibell**' or '**Love, Jezibell**'. Guessing the former, he asked, "Do you want to put in "And Ron Weasley" too?"

"It's to surprise, not give heart attacks."

Ron could see her smirking slightly as though she liked the sound of it. The heart attacks part. Ron set the card up on the table and they looked at it a second longer together. Then Jez snatched it up and into her pocket. She left the common room, probably for the owlery. From Jezibell or Love, Jezibell. He assumed her parents would know.

* * *

_Girls' Dormitory, December Twenty-fifth_

Jezibell woke to screaming.

It came from the wall to her right, high pitched and far, far happier than any sane creature should be at the hour. She rolled over and buried her head in a pillow, folding it hallway on her ear to smother the unholy noise into giggles and occasional squeals. But no, peace could not be sustained for long and the curtains were thrown open, javelining light unto the dark sanctuary..

"– stop the sleeping act, you don't fool anyone. There are presents for you too, you know. I think there's one even for Emmy. "

Jezibell raised her face to glare at the bushy head of Hermione through gummed eyes. The head grinned.

"I knew you could do it," The smiling head nodded and withdrew. Picking and rubbing out rough sleep, Jezibell reluctantly sat up as Emmy plunked her watch on her lap. 6:18. Bless us everyone. She emerged from the four-poster to find a collection of presents under the evergreen in the corner.

"Here's one for you from Ron and Hagrid. Catch," Hermione tossed a small shapeless bundle in purple dragon wrapping paper with a card attached. The card simply stated "**From Ron and Hagrid**" so Jezibell looked to Emmy for a better informant.

"_Wool,_" She hissed after a sniff, "_probably clothing. Weak magic, likely a weaving charm. Safe to open."_

So the givers went the homemade route. Good for them. Jezibell tore open the package and saw a couple items. A rich indigo scarf with cat silhouettes patterned squarely with gray beads at the ends was on top. Jezibell took a moment to feel the soft wool, before focusing on the second more intriguing item. A bookmark, tightly woven though bit off kilter in places, but altogether not half bad a job. Like the scarf, it was personalized with black and indigo pattern, though some red in it too, and a vague central image of a black cat with gray beads on the tail. The screaming started up again. It was coming from behind a wall on Jezibell's side where the second year dormitory was.

"I can't believe got them for me! I love you! You're the best friend ever!"

"I got the right color, Liz? I could return it if you think it's off –"

"_Noooo_, don't you dare! It's perfect!"

"_Noooo_, what you got for me is perfect! I was looking everywhere for it!"

"Jezibell, thanks for the supplies – they're exactly what I needed," Hermione came over to Jezibell's bed leaving the baggy orange sweater she had been holding up to herself under the tree, "So what did they get you? Wow, that's a beautiful scarf, Hagrid must have knitted it. It's a hobby of his. And what's this from Ron – a bookmark? You collect them, don't you? And it looks homemade. That's… that's nice of him."

She shut up then, for a moment at least, before returning to her sweater and telling Jezibell that there were some other presents for her if she wanted to see. Jezibell folded the scarf and bookmark up in the wrapping paper and shoved it under her pillow.

Her other presents were few, but not in all a disappointment. From Harry there were books nine through twelve in the _Time and After Time_ series and Hermione a self-help novel on communication and relationships with family and friends. Well, Jezibell did get her quills. There was an extra smaller package that went ignored until all else had been cleared through. Hermione rediscovered it when searching for extra paper scraps to dispose of.

"This is the one for Emmy," she passed it to Jezibell, "I don't see a card."

Having more than enough experience last year to be suspicious towards unmarked items of charity, Jezibell held out the item to Emmy for the sniff test.

"_It's _sealed._ No taste. I say we let fuzz bucket bat it around first."_

"Hermione, where did you say Crookshanks was?"

"Crookshanky?" She looked around herself, expecting to see him there, "I don't know. He may have gotten out when they brought the presents in."

Brought the presents in? Hermione may be a muggleborn, but surely she knew about –

"_Well_, help me find him," Hermione insisted impatiently, getting down on her knees to check under the bed. This lead to a search of the dormitory where it was quickly founded that the large ginger tom was not present, leading to a search of the common room below, leading to the conclusion that Crookshanks was likely in boys dormitory.

"Oh dear," Hermione looked up the staircase reluctantly, "He must've gone after Scabbers again."

"But you think Crookshanks is innocent as pumpkin pie," Jezibell called Hermione's stance on the undead hatchet she and Ron regularly sparred with.

"Yes, but Ron won't think so. Oh, come on, we may as well go see them anyhow."

"We can do that?" Jezibell crossed her arms self-consciously and Emmy stuttered a chuckle. There was no pretending she was at ease with going up there in just her Stonehenge tee-shirt and shorts during a red week.

"Of course we can, it's only the girls' the founders blocked," Hermione started up the stairs. Jezibell and Emmy followed. At the third year door they found Crookshanks mewling and pawing like it would help him spontaneously evolve thumbs. Jezibell picked up Emmy to take her out of the equation. Hermione cuddled the tom as a large stuffed animal and opened the door. The boys' dormitory was a bit larger than the girls', accommodating an additional bed, but just as empty. The guys were on the floor by the bedside Jezibell knew to be Harry's beneath the disaster zone of wrapping paper and Christmas cheer. Their backs were to the door, crowding around something unseen. When Hermione began her "Happy Christmas", Ron spotted them and he jumped up with a cry.

"Jez, you're brilliant! I can't believe you actually managed to get it, had to cost a fortune. Then again you _do_ have a fortune, don't you? Whatever. It's bloody_ beyond_ brilliant! Don't ever mind spending money on us again."

Jezibell took an alarmed step back and Emmy rattled her tail, "Didn't know you were that big a fan of Marvin Miggs."

"Good one, Jez," Ron chortled, "But seriously, when do _I_ get a turn to ride it?"

"Ride _what_?" demanded Hermione, setting down Crookshanks on a neighboring four poster and moving toward what Harry was still examining.

"Oi, don't bring_ him_ in here!" Ron patted the quivering lump in his chest pocket nervously. Jezibell and Emmy exchanged a glance and she considered giving him advice on hiding his rat in a place people outside the blind and deaf would have trouble finding.

Hermione wasn't paying him attention, and then neither was Jezibell. Both gaped at the _what_ Ron was referring to.

The Firebolt, perfect pristine picturesque as in Diagon Ally, floated two feet in the air shimmering like a mirage. It was Harry's. Jezibell could tell by the way he stared at it in disarmed disbelief, his hands quivering slightly around where it hovered as if when he touched it would turn to dust. She could see his amazed ownership as clearly as though printed on an overhead projector.

"_His,"_ Emmy whispered.

Ron was still talking, "It's made from the most aerodynamic birch, every twig has a flying charm on it, can go from zero to a hundred and fifty in less than ten seconds, the best of the best and an international standard, I can't believe you -"

"Don't," Jezibell cut him off, "I didn't buy that broom."

They all looked at her, even Harry.

"Oh," Ron walked back around to the Firebolt and glanced rapidly from it to her, "You didn't? I mean, are you sure?"

"I would know if I ordered a Firebolt."

"This is ridiculous," sighed Hermione, "Wasn't there a card that said –"

"It's not marked," Harry handed her the long rectangular box without taking his eyes off the broom. He had the oddest look to him after hearing it hadn't been Jezibell, almost relieved. Hermione took a moment to examine the package, her eyes wide and worried. Jezibell deposited Emmy on the floor so she could take a sniff too.

"If we take Jezibell's word that she didn't give it to you, then who did?"

Harry juggled his shoulders, "We don't know. Before we thought of Jez we figured it might be McGonagall or Dumbledore. Or Lupin, maybe. But they can't just be giving stuff to students like this, not so expensive. Ron thought Jez might've cause, well, he thought she was –"

"The obvious suspect," Jezibell crossed her arms again. She understood why they thought it was her. She had the money, was a wild card when it came to presents and Harry probably hadn't seen the socks yet.

"Yeah, that," Harry turned back to the broom. Emmy appeared very interested in the box, sniffling all over the inside of it and pawing the wrapping paper.

"So who, then?" Hermione bit her lip nervously, asking more herself than them.

"Who _cares_?" Ron went back to raving, "After the noon feast, we take it out for a test ride, and then can I have a go on it, Harry? Can I?"

"I don't think anyone should be riding it just yet!" Hermione interrupted, quite panicked.

"What do you think Harry's going to do with it? Sweep the floor?"

Retrospectively, would have been nice for Hermione to have dealt with the issue then and there. It may have saved a lot of mess, tears and missed homework later. But this remains unknown as Crookshanks then, with his usual sense of theatrical timing, attacked Ron.

"Get him _OUT OF HERE!"_

Ron twisted around madly to brush off the huge cat attached to his pajama front. This move didn't prove very profitable for Crookshanks in achieving his goal. In one particularly wild swing, Scabbers flew out of the chest pocket, over the shoulder and straight at Jezibell. Reflexively, she caught the rat head-up. The once obese animal had no fat on him at all, the body felt little more than a fuzzy sack of bones. There was disarmingly human emotion on the whiskered face. _Help me. _

Scabbers wouldn't be the only one needing help in a moment. Before Crookshanks's eyes could find his query, Jezibell quickly tossed Scabbers in Harry's direction who promptly chucked the rat at Emmy. The hybrid coiled protectively around the rodent, fangs barred and claws unsheathed.

During this lightning round of hot potato, Ron continued his herky jerky battle with Crookshanks. He tripped over Harry's propped up trunk, spilling himself and a pocket sneak-o-scope on the floor. Crookshanks squirmed from under Ron and into Hermione's arms, spitting at the unleashed whistling gold top. Emmy's tail shook like a maraca and she seemed hypnotized by its movement.

Ron pushed himself up and ordered Hermione to put the monster out. Harry gathered up his sneak-o-scope, Emmy loosened up and matters returned to a manageable level of sanity. Jezibell silently helped him repack the other items, wondering what the dark detector was chipping its paint over. The times she'd seen it, on the Hogwarts express and now, it was with just their little quartet and the thing consistently went berserk. Ron said it was cheap quality, but that would mean the charm was dull and reacted only to large problems in close proximity. So what or who was the problem?

Hermione left the boys' dormitory with Crookshanks after Ron's insistence, indignant in stride, but the worry mark still present. Jezibell lingered in the doorway. Stay or follow?

"Scabbers, where's Scabbers?" Ron remembered what he endured frontal assault for.

"_Emmy_", said Jezibell and Harry, one as a command, the other an explanation. Emmy obliged to reveal the rat lying limp against her stomach. She nudged him forward to Ron with her blunt nose.

"_He fainted, wretched bit of lint."_

Ron cradled his rat tenderly, smoothing what fur was left and confirming his relative health.

"Doesn't look too good, does he?" Harry looked up from setting his trunk back up, distasted at the rat's shriveled frame.

"It's stress that's doing it to him. If Hermione would just keep that stupid furball under control, he'd be fine," Ron reached over to Emmy as if to pat her on the head, but caught himself halfway, "Eh, erm thanks, Emmy."

Emmy winked at him and hunkered down on her haunches, settling for a nap. Harry cracked a smile. Stay.

Hermione didn't return to the boys' dormitory, and Jezibell spent the morning there. She watched Ron and Harry drool over the Firebolt and open their other presents. Alright, some of the drool might have been hers too. The guys both had several wooly clothes from Ron's mother (knitting must run in the family) and books on Quidditch from Hermione. Ron three times as many presents than Harry, but nobody commented on it. They seemed to like Jezibell's. Ron thanked her for the _Marvin Miggs _comics at any rate, and Harry did the treacle. The socks were a tougher sell.

When Harry opened the pack, Ron laughed, "And I thought you got him _a Firebolt_."

Harry grinned and put a two on, exchanging fresh set for the huge crud brown pair he had been wearing, "Comfy. How'd you know my size?"

"Lucky guess," Jezibell shrugged.

"_Sure_, it's not like you went through my drawers or anything." He said dubiously and Ron guffawed. Apparently he'd been told about last year.

"Put a sock in it," She indicated the six remaining pairs.

"Why don't you take out yours," Ron said, "Who gave you that?"

He pointed at little paw print box that she'd been fiddling with.

"It's Emmy's," Jezibell showed them the label, "Neither of you did?"

"No," Harry denied.

Ron looked a little guilty, "Sorry, we hadn't thought of her as wanting anything. So is that from Hermione?"

Jezibell shook her head, "Doesn't say who."

"Open it then, go on. What's the worst it can be?" Ron paused, realizing the asinine implications of what he said, "Oh, go _on_. Harry got one unsigned and it turned out to be a _Firebolt_."

Fair point. She opened it. The contents were a white cylindrical container, similar to the type used for paprika and spices, with little holes on the ends that were too small for the contents to poke through.

"Nepeta cataria: catnip" Jezibell read from the side label, before making the vast mistake of holding it out to Emmy.

"_!" _The hybrid's usual sophistication broke into incoherent yowls of kitty delight. She pounced, batting the canister around the tree. She frolicked and played and _meowed_.Ron and Harry doubled over at the same time. They clutched their sides to hold the laughter in, their faces rebelling against grins. Someone really should tell them it was alright before they gave themselves internal bleeding. Emmy looked up at them with glazed eyes and twitching paws, sucking blissed on her present. Murrow. Jezibell laughed, long hard and real.

She returned to the girl's dormitory not long after. It had undergone a cleaning in her absence; the waste basket was enjoying a feast of wrapping paper. Neither Hermione nor her pet was to be found. Jezibell changed into the regular jumper and robes for the noon feast, remembering to bring spare pads.

It was dinner and a show, thanks to the arrival of resident seer Sybil Trelawney. The elusive oracle was quite the act. Her first trick was to predict the death of the first person to rise from table once she sat down. This appeared to be disproven when it was pointed that Jezibell made the head count fourteen, not thirteen. The seer then made a gesture – either to fold her arms dramatically or straighten her glasses – dislodging her card pack and sending the Hanged Man fluttering face-up squarely on Jezibell's plate. This revelation caused a new round of hysterics which took several shufflings of tarot cards to settle.

Lupin was absent. _Again_. Dumbledore claimed he was under the weather and mentioned Snape making a potion for him. Jezibell wasn't satisfied. It's not common for a wizard to be sick every few weeks. The seasonal flu is one thing and granted, Lupin wasn't the pinnacle of good health, but so consistently was decidedly odd. Maybe even suspicious. The feast was well done as last year's and even less populated. Jezibell persuaded Emmy minus the catnip to join them with the promise of turkey neck. She was grumpy about it, but lightened up when receiving the live mice from a cracker Hermione and Jezibell pulled. Christmas Dinner lasted a couple hours and Emmy was asleep by the end of it, recovering from her catnip high. Harry and Ron stood up first, ready to return to the Firebolt.

"Coming?" Harry asked Hermione.

"No, I want a quick word with professor McGonagall first," She said it while looking down at her barely touched pie, avoiding their eyes and Jezibell supposed it had to do with the Time-Turner.

"Jez?"

She looked from Hermione to them, debating. Stay or follow?

* * *

_Hermione Granger_

Jezibell stood up too after a brief pause. Hermione felt a bit uncomfortable with all of them leaving despite that being what she wanted. Professor Trelawney gave a sudden yelp when she saw the three vacating the table. The woman leaned towards them, stretching out a shaking hand dramatically and dipping her sleeve in the pudding. Really, how did _anyone_ take her seriously?

"This could be the greatest mistake of your life!" Her voice trembled and she pointed at Jezibell, "The cards - think of the _cards!_ My dear, are you sure you want to go?_"_

"Exponentially," Jezibell said, looking quite bored with the display. Of course,_ she_ never appeared to take pleasure in anything, but Hermione was glad somebody was able to tell that phony off. Sybil Trelawney may be a professor but she certainly didn't act like it. The three left the hall together, likely to go back up to the boys dormitory to look at the Firebolt. Hermione needed to act quickly.

"Professor, there's something I need to tell you and do hear me out."

Professor McGonagall gave her full attention. Hermione shrunk in her seat a bit under the sharp eyes but she took pride that the deputy Headmistress would believe her more willingly than a less reliable student.

"Is this to do with your schedule, Miss Granger?" The professor straightened her glasses, "I daresay you might be over your head at this point."

"Oh, no, not at all," Hermione said in defense. She wasn't over her head. Her marks were perfect, exemplary. Except for that one homework assignment for ancient runes she mistranslated a letter, but she'd been working double time to make up for it since. Professor McGonagall should know Hermione was capable, she chose her alone for the Time-Turner after all, "No, Professor, it's about Harry, actually. You see, for Christmas he got a new broom – a Firebolt."

"A _Firebolt_. That's excellent, Granger; he'll be ready to play for Gryffindor then. Quite excellent, I'd like to thank personally whoever indulged in their pocket to send him a _Firebolt_."

"That's the problem, Professor, the package wasn't labeled. We don't know who it came from."

"I see. So Potter has secret admirer. You don't think Miss Malfoy –?"

"No, we asked Jezibell and she said she hadn't. Granted she isn't the most reliable, but I doubt she would have that kind of money on her person," Hermione took a deep breath, "Professor, I have reason to believe that the broomstick is jinxed and was sent by Sirius Black. I know I might be jumping to conclusions, but you did say that any suspicions should be taken directly to you."

"I did indeed say that, and you did very well by coming to me, Miss Granger," McGonagall said after a pensive pause and Hermione's confidence swelled, "Tell me, has Potter ridden on his new broom yet?"

"No, he and Ron looked it over, but they haven't actually gotten on it as of now."

"I see," She repeated, her mouth tightening, "I'll have to take a look at this Firebolt."

She stood up, righted her hat with dignity and made for the corridor. Hermione, reminding herself again that they'd thank her for this later, followed. The walk to Gryffindor Tower seemed longer than usual. Hermione realized this was mostly because Professor McGonagall didn't use the shortcuts Harry found with his invisibility cloak, but might also be because Hermione was working herself into a little ball of nervous tension. Stop. It won't be terrible. Relax. Professor McGonagall might take one look at the broom and deem it entirely secure. Or maybe Harry rode it already and it was fine. Or maybe Harry rode it already and it was right now attempting to strangle him.

"Scurvy cur."

The substitute portrait, Sir Cadogan, who had indulged in some Christmas mead during the feast swung open, "Enter, noble queen!"

Harry, Ron and Jezibell were in the common room with the Firebolt and Broomstick Servicing Kit out. Even Hermione could tell the latter was utterly pointless as the broom couldn't be more new and the sand paper and twig clippers had indeed been abandoned on the floor. They didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, though should really be more careful about where they set those sharp clippers.

The three started when she and Professor McGonagall came in, and Hermione found she wasn't able to quite meet their eyes. She spotted a book on a chair in the corner and made for it around the Firebolt setup, keeping her eyes forward. She sat down, opening the book to conceal her face.

"So, that's it, is it?" She heard Professor McGonagall say followed by footsteps, "Miss Granger just informed me you have been sent a broomstick, Potter."

Hermione didn't lower the book, but she intuitively felt their eyes on her. Upon closer observation, the book in question was one of Jezibell's magic fictions, though she couldn't read the title as it was also upside down. Hermione face went warm in realizing her mistake. If they hadn't known something was up, they were sure to now. Professor McGonagall then requested to see the Firebolt and Harry handed over it without fuss. She took her time examining. Hermione peeked above the edge of the eggplant binding and could see the deputy headmistress was doing a very thorough search for any obvious enchantments. Jezibell skewered her gaze in a moment's observation and Hermione promptly lifted the book again. She wanted to flip it right side, but didn't wish to draw attention.

"And there was no note at all, Potter" queried the Professor, "No card, no message of any kind?"

"No."  
"I see…"

Hermione hoped Ron and Harry would. She gripped the book more tightly for the moment of truth.

"I'm afraid I will have to take this, Potter."

"What?" Harry stammered, "Why?

Professor McGonagall explained it had to be checked for jinxes and it would need to be stripped down to do so properly. Ron and Harry both protested, even as she explained the only way for them to tell would be to fly it. Out of the question. The Professor exited the common room, taking the Firebolt and leaving silence. Hermione waited at baited breath for one of them to speak.

"Please give back my book."

Hermione lowered the magic fiction reluctantly and Ron exploded.

"WHAT DID YOU GO RUNNING TO MCGONAGALL FOR?"

She tossed it aside, not caring for mistreatment of a fantasy novel, and rose.

"Because I thought, and Professor McGonagall agrees with me – that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!"

They quieted and Hermione's ears rung with the abruptness. Harry's mouth fell open and Jezibell quickly looked to him and back again.

"Have you gone completely _mental_?" Ron put a figure to his temple and made a face, "Black is criminal being hounded by the dementors and you think he can just walk into Quidditch Quality supplies to place an order?"

"You don't know what he's capable of. He could have stolen it, or disguised himself or made a copy," In all honesty, Hermione knew that how Black could have access to a Firebolt was a flaw to her theory. But that didn't matter. Professor McGonagall agreed it was a risk. Hermione knew she was right.

Harry folded his arms and glared too, "Well, you could have told us what you thought before you went running to –"

"Stop calling it that!" Hermione was betrayed. She was sure that Ron would be beyond reason, but Harry usually agreed with her, "I did not 'go running' I just had suspicion and the more I thought about it the more it made sense. Since he already failed at direct attack, Black's next best move would be the roundabout method. You're lucky I acted quickly, if I'm right and you had ridden that broom you could've been killed."

"It was a good broom, Hermione, there was nothing life threatening about it. I could tell."

"Yeah," Ron chimed, "You don't know about Quidditch and brooms, how would you tell if it there was something wrong."

"By _riding _on it, I suppose," Hermione adopted heavy sarcasm, "Because clearly there is _nothing wrong_ with it until it starts doing the twist midflight!"

This argument went on, Ron becoming increasingly bombastic and Harry kept shaking his head, his voice quivering in frustration. Hermione knew she was losing ground, losing them. They couldn't see that she only cared for Harry's safety and if Ron just stopped to think instead of being so stupid and careless over a stupid broom that didn't matter how good it was if it could have been sent by Black and Professor McGonagall agreed and how would they possible know if Black had done anything to it or not and they weren't listening to her. Why wouldn't they listen?

Hermione felt herself coming to tears, and she hurried to the dormitory to discover Jezibell already there reading her magic fiction. Hermione supposed that in the heat of argument, neither she nor the boys noticed Jezibell take her novel and retreat. Jezibell ignored Hermione as she went to bed, but Hermione knew the reclusive girl was paying attention. _She_ always paid attention and people always did to her. She never felt frustrated or confused. She was completely collected in every way all the time. Hermione pulled the curtains on her four-poster closed and had her cry quietly as she could.


	12. Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

_Rubeus Hagrid_

"This is perfectly easy! Why can't you say it right?"

Hagrid looked over the essay he was holding gingerly in his fingers so not to rip it. Hermione was just as surprised. The girl hastily cupped a hand over her mouth and plunked down on the stool. It squawked and leaned in a way stools are not meant. The right leg would snap soon. He would start whittling a new one when Hermione went back to the castle.

"I'm so sorry, Hagrid," Hermione rubbed her red forehead, "I didn't mean it the way it sounded. You're coming along real well. It's just that I'm running out of time. You can start again. Paragraph three is about where you left off."

But Hagrid didn't turn back to the fiddly little print, instead taking a good look at his lawyer. Since Harry and Ron stopped speaking to her over something to do with a broomstick during the Hols, Hermione worked with him on the case alone. Jezibell Malfoy stuck with her a few weeks but as the girls saw eye to eye well as a pixie and a centaur they started working apart from the other. Jezibell finished the notecards weeks ago and Hagrid knew them good by now, but Hermione pressed hers into his hands, saying it was better. No doubt she did a fine job and it was just the sort of posh the ministry wizards would want to hear, but rows and rows of letters in neat piles of ink made him cross eyed. Hagrid wouldn't fail to try his best at it though. Not after Hermione took an hour out of her overstuffed school day to help.

But seeing her face and posture, raccoon eyes and slumped shoulders, reminded him of the stool.

"Hermione, is everythin' all righ'?"

She twitched to the clock on wall behind her. Hagrid was dimly aware of that clock breaking down a while ago, but he'd been too worried about Buckbeak to fix it, "Of course, everything's fine! Why wouldn't it be?"

Hagrid's eyebrows rose.

"Have ye spoken to Ron abou' his attack yet?" he asked measuredly.

At the mention of Ron and the second Black Attack, she broke down. Shuddering, she covered her face to hide tears over her friend.

Hagrid put a hand on her shoulder and the stool fractured more and more to the side. He really needed to do something about that.

"He was actually in their dormitory," she blubbered, "Could have killed, had a knife. And what then? Ron, he could have died! Or Harry. Black could come back, he's done it twice now. Security trolls don't matter, they're not safe, but I can't help them because they hate me for Scabbers and the Firebolt. Harry has it back now, but he always sides with Ron! I can't sleep, and I'm exhausted all the time. Jezibell doesn't care… And I can't talk to them because all my spare time is spent helping you. But I _can't _give it up. Not on you and Buckbeak, not on the classes, not on Crookshanks. I'm better than this, so _why am I failing?"_

Hagrid supported her and handed her his handkerchief to use. She buried her face in it, small enough to use it as a pillow.

"Hermione, Don't think fer a second tha' you've failed at anythin'," Hagrid smiled down on her kindly, "You've been doin' everythin' a person could do fer me an' Beaky. I reckon we stand a chance now, thanks to you and yer smart writin'. They'll come around, you see. Though, I suppose it wouldn' hurt to give a nudge."

Hagrid mused on the last thought. He could send the boys an owl to ask them to come down to see him before dark tomorrow. They hadn't visited for a while, and he'd been about to anyway. Best leave Jezibell Malfoy out of it. He knew the best way to give Harry and Ron a shove in the right direction, but didn't think guilt tripping would work on _that_ kid. Let her come on her own course, following the boys' example.

He patted Hermione lightly on the shoulder and the stool listed dangerously to one side.

"Do what ye can to help 'em," he continued to advise, "Even if they don' thank ye fer it. Ye got to keep their heads on fer them even they don' have the sense to do it themselves. "

"No sense…. You're too right there," She planted her feat to steady herself, "I know what it is. Ever since Jezibell joined us, I've been feeling… outside them. It's as though I wasn't so important as before. But I've had so much else to think about."

She looked up at him through red eyes, in the sweet natured yet sharp understanding way that made her so preferred among the teachers. It wasn't just that she was brilliant in her classes. Half the Ravenclaws were just as good. Hermione Granger was decent.

"That's not an excuse, is it?" She stood and shifted out from under Hagrid's hand to hold it in both of hers, "Thank you, Hagrid, for getting my head on straight. I know what I have to do now."

She smiled through her buck-teeth that made Hagrid think instantly of the expression he once saw on a chipmunk after tossing its family the rest of his bread. The loaf was long stale and they were helping him clean out cupboards as much as he was feeding them, but the thought counted. Hermione reissued the weight of the world and a book bag to her shoulder, telling Hagrid to look over the essay for tomorrow when they would start on paragraph four, the most important one.

"Oh, and Hagrid," She added to him as she fixed the white and pink scarf he knitted her for Christmas, "That stool, the one I was on, it has a large crack in one of the legs. You really should have it fixed before somebody is hurt."

* * *

_Gryffindor Common Room, February Eighth_

Jezibell lounged in a fireside chair, Emmy circled around her feet, waiting for Harry and Ron to be back. They'd left earlier at Hagrid's invitation sometime near six and it was going on nine now. Curfew didn't last much longer. Jezibell kept an eye on her watch as she worked alongside Hermione on group effort muggle studies homework.

The challenge was thus: coordinate with two other people to research, compile and tastefully organize information on modern muggle engineering. Due to the diverse nature of the topic, the lesson plan divided the class into groups of three, the idea being every person would have a distinct job. Each group was assigned a particular aspect of technology to explore. After a month, the groups would present their findings on the overhead projector while the rest of the class took notes in the perfect marriage of learning, cooperation and oral report. It would sound great on Burbage's to Dumbledore and the school board.

Less so in practice. The third year class did not divvy evenly into threes. When Burbage announced this, Lisa and Mandy Ravenclaw promptly offered to be the two. They were initially applauded for being willing to do an extra person's work along with their share. Then Jezibell did the math.

H3 + R(2+3) + G2 + S = 3(3) + 2

H3 - 3

R3 - 3

R2 - 2

G2 + S = 3

_Fantastic._ Patil and Brown would _love_ this.

"Professor!" Hermione protested, having made a similar mental equation. But when she twisted her neck around to face her new compadre at the back of the class, something stopped her hand. Maybe she thought he would get his Slytherin roommates to make her life hell for humiliating him, or perhaps she thought Burbage might force their cooperation anyway and she wanted the sentence on her terms. Either way, the hand of fate went down and Hermione, Jezibell and Theodore were stuck. Their topic was muggle television and radio. As the class left for lunch, Theodore made a swift bargain.

"I won't tell, if you won't," he muttered covertly to Jezibell, ignoring Hermione and her martyred expression. Deal.

The three only saw another during Muggle Studies classes to plot and went their separate ways for production once outside. In the classroom, the three of them never met as a proper group to dissuade the Ravenclaws. It usually went that Hermione have an idea and Jezibell would messenger it to Theodore, but when Hermione figured out Jezibell wasn't reliable for this position she started passing notes to him herself. It took a bit to work out a strategy because Hermione, despite her already staggering amount of responsibility, wanted all the main work. She didn't trust Theodore with a Supersketch or Jezibell with composition. It took Jezibell much coaxing and conniving to convince her into letting them handle the library research, but Hermione still insisted in being the one writing on the clear plastic paper and formulating the response. She did have the neatest handwriting.

Hermione and Jezibell were on the last leg of it now, the compare and contrast between how radios worked for muggles and wizards. Jezibell took notes on towers set up by muggles to communicate 'signals' in waves while Hermione used them to construct bullets marching down the plastic. They didn't speak, except for Hermione asking Jezibell to translate her chicken scratch. A Hogsmeade notice went up around six and Hermione paused for ten seconds, clenching the lent marker so tightly it would have crushed a quill. So pens_ were_ good for something.

The guys returned not long after that and their eyes went immediately to the crowd around the bulletin board. Their faces lightened with the prospect of a trip. They sat next to Jezibell, Ron already making plans for Harry's next adventure. Hermione was too.

"Harry, if you go into Hogsmeade again, I'll tell Professor McGonagall about the map!"

The Christmas spirit was long gone. She and Ron argued fiercely a few moments, culminating in Hermione once again storming to the dormitory with Crookshanks, not before finishing the bullets. Ron proceeded to go on about Zonko's. Harry said he'd bring his invisibility cloak.

"Wait," Jezibell interrupted this latest reveal, "_You_ have an invisibility cloak. This explains much."

"Does it mean you're with us?" Ron demanded a choice.

"My schedule's open," Jezibell set the books aside with a slight shrug. She was determined maintain neutrality in World War Three, but didn't think it begrudged Hogsmeade trips.

Neither did Ron, apparently. He continued planning, saying they'd be sure to visit the Shrieking Shack and the post office was worth a look too. Jezibell turned to Harry.

"What did Hagrid say?"

"Nothing," Harry sighed wearily at her asking, "nothing at all."

_Nothing at all_, he doth protest too much. Intrigue? Surprisingly, no. Jezibell did not care in the least about Harry's latest problem. It wasn't about her.

The presentations for Muggle Studies came the day after next, but as Jezibell's group was slated to go last they were bumped to Friday. This was the good news. The bad news was Burbage made a ruling on Wednesday, stating each person had to speak a whole sentence at minimum to receive more than half credit. As the lucky spokesperson was already decided in most groups, this made for some last minute changes. Green and Red was no exception.

"Jezibell, I know Theodore and you only want to speak for your quota, so, Jezibell, you can say what I wrote here about televisions verses wizarding moving pictures. You researched that, right?"

"No."

"Oh, well, it'll do anyway. Theodore can take this bit in the middle regarding radio signals –"

"Hate to interrupt your great plans, but what if I don't _want_ this bit?" Theodore sulkily entered the monologue for the first time.

"Erm," Hermione had trouble addressing the Slytherin directly, "You can have the part at the beginning with -"

"And if I don't like that either?"

"You've got to do something or you're not going to get the credit!"

"I know, and it just breaks my heart," He rolled his eyes and Hermione turned a flamingo pink. Part of Jezibell wanted very much to add her two bronze, but she kept it in her pocket.

Hermione gave Jezibell an it's-like-reasoning-with-Peeves look. She managed that before.

"Don't want to help us?" Jezibell asked him, "Help yourself. If you can't pick and deliver a line, then by breakfast tomorrow everyone will know how… _friendly_ you and Hermione got during production."

"_What?"_ Hermione squawked, understanding exactly how Jezibell was blackmailing him. "Don't_ I _get a say in this?"

Jezibell ignored her.

"You wouldn't," Theodore dared her, but she sensed a bluff. Theodore was overly concerned with his public character. It was a manner of self-preservation against the wasps of his house, by mimicking them, no one questioned his decidedly unconventional behavior. Being a loner, showing up for makeup work, taking Muggle Studies and actually doing his share of research on the project. The only thing that kept him from being ravaged for the latter was his message on the board the first day. The slander had spread throughout the school by lunch and earning him a fast reputation both in and outside the classroom. For what seemed a matter teenage prejudice it was actually a very shrewd move. Acting out of impulsive hatred, rather than the usual strategy of kissing up to the professor who dislikes you, would have been suicidal in any other circumstance. Contradictory, by not behaving as a Slytherin Theodore proved he was. What's more, it proved to Jezibell she could make him behave.

"Choose," Jezibell handed him the plastic paper. But he didn't, really.

The Hogsmeade trip came Saturday and Harry had it all planned. Armed with the invisibility cloak and map (which he now referred to as "the Marauders") he waited patiently inside the entrance to wave Hermione and the third year goodbye, made clear he would see them WHEN THEY CAME BACK and walked purposefully up the staircase to Gryffindor tower. Ron gave the most ostentatious conspiratorial wink in the history bumbling sidekicks and Jezibell stomped on his foot.

"_Youch_!" Ron stumbled on his trainers, disrupting the loose line and causing Hermione to radiate such distain it was felt five people down, "What was that for?"

"Birds were about to start pecking your other eye, thinking somebody got to the first."

"Alright, the wink was a bit much, but you didn't have to crush half my toes to say so. Your boots are _hard."_

He quit whining once they reached the Dementors, but kept a slight limp until they were past the gates. Maybe stomping _was_ tad overkill. Per usual they went to Honeydukes first, this time not only for the free samples, but to kill time until Harry showed. Or didn't show, as it were. Jezibell had yet to witness the invisibility cloak in action. Harry let her handle the shimmery fabric beforehand. It wasn't defined in shape and compactable, easily stuffed in a pocket. More of an invisibility bed sheet. Jezibell pictured three tweens reasonably concealed under it while they ran around Hogwarts secret passage ways in witching hour. She'd been speculating on how Harry found those, having never showed him any.

The duo browsed the sweet shop, alert for a shoulder tap or ear whisper, but after a while even Ron grew bored of watching the butterscotch fountain renew itself. Sticking to the back corner didn't work as Hermione was stalking them from behind the peppermint toads. Ron ignored her admirably, but lingering where Harry arrive aroused suspicion. They exited the shop, Jezibell breathing fresh air with relief, and mooched around in the front, unable to leave without the third party member.

"So…" Ron's brow crinkled as he hunted for topic of common interest, "Which Quidditch team do you favor?"

"Traditionally, my family backs the Tornadoes," Jezibell kept an eye on the door, waiting for an opening without anyone leaving, "As the season goes on, we go with who's winning. Yours?"

"Chudley Cannons, all the way," He said with the name with the reverence of a devotedly deluded fan.

"The ones who slogan is 'let's just cross our figures and hope for the best'." The sad thing is this was true.

"Now that's just a bit of slump, they'll pull out –"

"A hundred year slump," Jezibell paraphrased.

"The Cannons held the best in the league for _ten years_ before that! In 1892 they blasted World Cup from the Australians after defeating the leading Gorodok Gargoyles. Now that they're working on a trade with the Slavs, this might be the year for a comeback!"

There were many flaws to that assumption and Jezibell would love to point out a few, when she noticed feetless tracks materializing in the debris littered February slush before them.

"What kept you?" Ron asked the last set of prints.

"Snape was hanging around," Harry's voice explained vaguely. Experimenting, Jezibell held her palm up to air about where the top of his head should be. The gesture was passable as testing for snowflakes, though ridiculous, given the mild temperature. She could feel the silky thread of the broad cowl, but saw nothing even when rubbing it slightly between her fingers.

"Are you done?" Harry's voice asked tersely after a few seconds of probing. Jezibell withdrew her hand, a bit embarrassed as she never would have reached out if she could see him.

"Not a bad cloak."

Ron laughed, "'Not a bad cloak', she says! Did you here that, Harry? I think we may have witnessed the rare compliment. Next thing you know she'll be smiling and doing slapstick comedy."

Harry received the full tour of what he missed the first time; from the Post Office to Zonko's Joke Shop. Ron talked with Harry mostly and Jezibell found it best to keep a steady pace and shut mouth. Harry was better than she had hoped at being invisible, almost too good. She recognized how some of the other third years perceived her and Ron without the rest the gang. Enjoying a day in Hogsmeade, Weasley and Malfoy just the two, as a passing Patil and Brown happily pointed out.

As visualized beforehand, Ron did endeavor a trip to the Shrieking Shack. He filled Harry and Jezibell in on all its fascinating history on the hike up the muddy hill. The time the twins tried to get in, the times they tried to get Prefect Weasley in and tales of the ghosts that supposedly haunted it. Jezibell considered asking when was the last time anybody saw these spirits when not inhaling others, but thought better of it.

Away from the welcoming atmosphere required in a tourist town, the dejected little hovel had an unexpected lonesome air. It couldn't even be called house, the word implies a sustaining premise. Jezibell could see how it scared some with windows nailed shut and a garden too wild for even the most enthusiastic caretaker to brave. It's solitary existence up so high gave her a very personal impression of the site. Whatever had or did dwell here, it couldn't appreciate the school children leaning against its fence, daring each other to pry, to touch, to go a little closer. She felt like a trespasser.

"We saw it," Jezibell broke the silence around the dark hollow building, "Now -"

She left off when she heard a fellow explorer jabbering faintly behind them. Multiple laboring steps were ascending the opposing side of the hill. The person was going on about his father at a hearing about an arm and making bad jokes at Hagrid's expense. A hippogriff, good as dead. It was no big reveal when Draco came into their line of vision accompanied by Scab and Boil.

"Jezibell and Weasley? Fancy meeting you two up here," He jeered, "Shopping for your dream home, are we? Though I suppose to Weasley here, this place really does look prime. The kids might even get their own rooms."

It was difficult to say which was redder – Ron's hair or Ron's face. Jezibell thought several nasty things at her brother before forcing her mouth into a wide Cheshire grin. Scab and Boil cringed.

"Actually, we were wondering when the Shrieking Specter would show."

Draco paused, taking a longer look at the most haunted estate in the United Kingdom. His pink cheeks from the climb paled.

"You can't scare me,_ Jez_! Its day-time, stupid," Draco gave Boil a cuff on the shoulder, prompting him to laugh, "Trying to tell ghost stories in middle of the afternoon. Ha! Who does she take us for? _Longbottom_."

Jezibell just kept smiling, muscles tensing a little at the effort. Come on, Harry. Take the golden opportunity. Draco was still protesting too much when the first mud ball hit the back of his head.

It was a glorious few minutes. Draco and his goons spent them enduring the Skrieking Spectre's merciless mire filled wrath. Playing up the namesake, war cries erupted from thin air. A few Jezibell was sure made Draco wet himself. The cloak really was well made. Harry packed together and threw the mud without revealing his hands or gathering splotchy residue on the fabric and judging by the distance between attacks, he was running rings around the Slytherins without it coming loose. Jezibell wondered why he didn't pull stunts like this more often.

Running out of options for how to deal with this new threat, Scab barreled toward Jezibell and Ron and suddenly tripped over nothing. Until Harry's alarmed head popped into existence four feet or so above him. Harry had the sense to recover the hood, but not before Draco had seen. Jezibell watched mutely as her brother screamed and made a beeline to the castle gates followed by a befuddled Scab and Boil. So that explained it.

"fxysmirkisss!" Harry's voice was horrified as he cursed, "I've got to get back before he finds Snape!"

And then he was gone, presumably off to Honeydukes. Ron and Jezibell successfully exchanged the universal look for "Oh crap" before skidding down the hill after them. Draco had a head start, but it would take him a bit to find his head of house. Meanwhile, Jezibell and Ron could find their own sympathetic teacher. Lupin would work if he wasn't out sick again. Jezibell didn't think many of the staff knew about Harry's cloak. Snape couldn't or he would have confiscated it long ago. What was the penalty for sneaking into Hogsmeade anyway? Detention? Expulsion? Rap on the knuckles?

"Jez," panted Ron as they neared the castle gates, "We forgot about Filch! It'll take forever to pass him and the Dementors."

Jezibell focused ahead of them at the caretaker scouring rust perceptible to him alone and breathed in the icebox air. She did not have time for forever.

Jezibell drew her wand, muttered a hex and jabbed Ron sharply in the stomach. Immediately he doubled over, hands on mouth and eyes furious with betrayal, stopping in his tracks. She grabbed a handful of his sleeve and dragged him over to Filch.

"Sir, my friend needs the hospital wing," Jezibell pushed Ron forward and he promptly unloaded a rainbow of Honeydukes' finest on the caretaker's boots, "Too many sweets."

"Eurgh!" The reply came, which Jezibell took as a yes. They walked freely through the oak front doors, Ron still retching, while Filch busied himself with his chosen career. Once inside Ron wiped his mouth and shook his head in disbelief.

"I dunno whether to thank or curse you for that. It was brilliant; Filch'll be there all day with the Magical Mess Remover. But why'd it have to me?"

"It didn't."

"Ok, cursing it is. Hang on, why are we going up to Gryffindor Tower? Malfoy's in the dungeons, tattling to Snape."

"Harry. Needs. An alibi," Jezibell explained shortly between stairs, "I. Know where. To find one.

Neville Longbottom was in the Gryffindor common room, idling on an essay for Lupin. He'd likely gotten it out with the idea he'd be able to catch up on homework while his classmates enjoyed Hogsmeade, but now didn't know what to do with it. McGonagall banned him from the village since he misplaced a list of passwords to Gryffindor tower. Sirius recovered and used this same cheat sheet to sneak into the boys' dormitory with knife, nearly killing Harry along with the other roommates. But now Neville was the only person in the tower with an ideal excuse to save the peer he almost condemned. In a backwards way, Neville's memory failure was stroke of luck.

"LONGBOTTOM!" Jezibell barked in McGonagallesque tones as she and Ron burst through the portrait hole. Neville jumped in his chair and she returned to normal volume, "If any teacher – especially Snape – comes asking if you've seen Harry, tell them you both have been working on Lupin's vampire essay all afternoon. You can copy off mine so it will look like you've accomplished something."

He nodded slowly. Jezibell knew she wasn't very nice in her requests, but there were bigger butterflies to stomp. Draco had probably found Snape by now and unloaded the entire incident onto him. Whether the shrewd professor connected the dots on the invisibility cloak and map or not, he'd still wring every drop of consequence from this. Assuming Neville could hold his position as alibi someone would still have to go find Snape and convince him to check for it to be affective. But running down to the dungeons in panic would be good as a confession. Jezibell pressed her pounding forehead to a wall, thinking too hard about thinking what to plan. What did she need? An invisibility cloak and a complete moving map of Hogwarts at her disposable would be nice. Or how about a _Time-Turner_ and a couple of parselmouths? Surely she could find _some _use for them. The sarcasm did not help.

"Jez?" Ron spoke behind her carefully, "If I know Snape, the first thing he's going to do when he finds Harry is to make him turn out his pockets. The Marauder's map is safe, it'll look like old parchment if Harry wiped it right, but he'll find the Zonko's stuff. Wait, _that's it! Zonko's_! I'll go down and tell Snape about _Doctor Dervishes Delirium Dust! _I'll tell him I threw some at Malf – Draco's face as a joke. _He_ won't believe me, but any other professor will."

"_Delirium_ Dust?" She didn't remember seeing a label on the flamboyant shelves, "They have that?"

"No," Ron admitted, smirking, "but they _could."_

Brilliant genius.

"Ron Weasley, you're quite the deviant," Her praise was entirely genuine. "Go, _now_."

He went, leaving the newly restored Fat Lady grumbling behind him.

"Jezibell?"

She turned around, to find Neville still watching her, "Right, vampire essay."

It took few seconds of rummaging to find the paper, and she handed it off, trying to think of any particularly bad patches of handwriting she should warn him about.

"Thanks," he took it, "But that's not what I meant for. Hermione ran up to the girl's dormitory not long ago. She looked pretty upset."

This came as little surprise. Hermione was in a constant state of aguish lately. Jezibell could think of several reasons why, and she had been avoiding Hermione because of this. She made a point to leave distressed people alone, knowing that's what she would want if it was her. But it would seem rude to do nothing after being told.

Jezibell found Hermione sitting on her bed, Crookshanks upon her lap and turned from the door. She wasn't crying, at least not loudly, but there was a tremor in her voice when she spoke.

"Back so soon?" The comment was _meant _to be indifferent. This would the moment when a friend would hug and cry too or at least say something half genuinely nice, but Jezibell knew none of them.

"What's in your hands?"

Parchment crackled as Hermione's grip tightened on whatever she was holding, "I don't know if it would matter to _you_ any, but…but, _oh, it's over_! Hagrid lost his trial and Buckbeak is going to be executed! He sent me a letter, _here_!"

She hurled the parchment at Jezibell. It fluttered as a one winged butterfly, alighting in the gap between them.

* * *

_Hermione Granger_

Immediately after throwing the letter, Hermione felt exceedingly silly. Melodramatic, naïve and all the other things she knew she wasn't, but often felt in Jezibell's presence. Jezibell bent down slowly to retrieve the letter, plucking with one hand and proceeded to read in a half-crouched position. She must be taking in all Hermione had. The sad brevity and Hagrid's grief so great the marks were jagged as his quill shook. The tear stains that bore holes in the paper and the blunt truth cleaving Hermione like an ax. She worked _so hard_ for it not to make a difference in the horrible matter. Jezibell had too. Maybe not for the same reasons, but she put just as much effort into winning, into saving. And now, folding up the letter crisply, she didn't even look slightly perturbed.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" Hermione set Crookshanks aside and he stalked off to wherever cats go when they don't want to be around, "You knew we would fail."

Jezibell had no answer or if she did, didn't feel like sharing with the class.

"I'm going to tell Harry and Ron."

"Wait a minute," Jezibell said it very matter-of-a-factly, but Hermione was learning to be suspicious. There was no reason for Harry to be anywhere else than with Ron hearing about the day in Hogsmeade. Unless…

"Why _were_ you back so soon?"

"Ron had an upset stomach," Jezibell answered without pause, looking directly at Hermione. Hermione had read somewhere that when people lie they will avoid eye contact. It was usually true, often she would be able to catch Harry and Ron when they were making things up by this method, but she had a feeling Jezibell read that book too.

"You know honesty is best policy," Hermione remarked.

"That was the truth," Jezibell smirked, "Some."

"_Jezibell_."

She shrugged, "I'm neutral. Harry came with us into Hogsmeade. And got caught -"

"Serves them right -"

"- By Draco."  
"Oh no! What did he do? Professor Snape's interrogating Harry right now, isn't he? Why aren't you with them?"

"Ron has a plan. Though Harry's as good as expelled, then."

"You'd be surprised," Hermione retorted defensively. Ron could be plenty brilliant, when he wasn't acting like an obtuse cat-hating maggot.

Jezibell cocked her head to the side, "I was."

"You were? How so?" Hermione demanded, not entirely sure what she was arguing at this point. How was Jezibell _surprised _by Ron?

"Don't we have a speedy delivery?" Jezibell avoided the question as if it were toxic and left the dormitory with the letter. Hermione had little choice but to follow.

They found the boys as they were returning from the dungeons. Ron's plan evidently worked. Ha! Harry was thankfully not expelled, but the Marauder's Map had been confiscated by Professor Lupin. The latter Hermione didn't see it as such a bad thing, but she made no comment on it. Because when Jezibell presented the letter, Hermione spelling it out to them why it was hopelessly over, Ron did the best thing ever. He said he would help. That she wouldn't be alone this round and they would make the appeal work.

"Oh,_ Ron_!" Hermione hugged him tight, feeling so grateful that he would be with her and so sorry she was angry at him over Scabbers. Of course Crookshanks hadn't done it, but how could she be mad at him for thinking a cat ate a rat? If a pet of hers had ran away leaving blood behind, what would she have thought? He accepted her apologies, though she could tell it was as hard as it was for her to say them.

Pulling back, she could see Harry clutching the letter and speaking quietly to Jezibell. He was accusing her of something and Jezibell simply held up her palms in mock defense, which made Harry angrier.

"I hope you two aren't going to start again," Ron jokingly folded his arms, "I don't think I can handle any more catastrophic events today."

Harry and Jezibell exchanged an amused glance and even Hermione appreciated the irony.

"No, we're not," He looked to Jezibell sternly, "But try any games like that again and –"

"And what? Bricks will be levitated?"

"You better believe it."

"Harry, this is what you want. Are you really angry about my means to its end?"

"I suppose not," he grumbled, then looked back to the letter and sighed. Hermione didn't know what Jezibell did this time, but if it happened a second Harry wouldn't let her off easy, bricks or no. The only reason he was still friends with her was that, despite how amoral she was she still, without a thought to herself, saved his life. This one action put her irrevocably in league with Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore, in his mind anyway. "Come on, we've got to see Hagrid. Got to tell him, they can't do this. I won't let them."

But of course they couldn't go see him. Not alone as they needed, due to curfew and lessons. This was problematic as other students who already lacked confidence in their teacher would over hear his tragedy if they spoke in public. One of the times they tried talking to Hagrid Draco Malfoy overheard and began his usual campaign of obnoxiousness after class. Hermione, in a fit of childish anger, hit him for it. Her palm stung afterword and she could only hope his face was worse. It was the first time she'd – no, there was a younger cousin she remembered giving a smack once when he wouldn't stop pulling her curls. An insufferable child, but Hermione had been the one receiving the brunt of the scolding. Hitting was a foolish way to deal with problems. It accomplished little and usually caused you more trouble than the reprimand was worth. If Hermione wanted to prove she was on top of things, she should use her head not her hand. Now go to your room and stay there until supper.

Her violence this time wasn't met with immediate punishment, but karma caught up to her in Ancient Runes. Daphne Greengrass commented on Draco's version of the incident, which made Hermione so angry and embarrassed that she had to go to the bathroom to wash up afterword and forgot – _forgot_ – about changing time for Charms. This had a domino effect on her schedule as she now had to accommodate an entire class period worth of work along with everything else she needed for exams. So was it any wonder when she walked out on Professor Trelawney's utterly worthless crystal-gazing? She considered apologizing once cooled down but it wasn't worth the time. How were smoke-filled orbs going to help her education? They had opposite effect, taking away from the time she needed to translate the moderate-level paragraph of runes. She was horrified with herself because she _still _didn't know the archaic language by heart and needed a dictionary every other sentence.

Blessed Easter came, as a lovely opportunity for her to catch up with work and sleep. The teachers had other plans. Some being; a five paragraph essay for transfiguration, Cheering Charm practice (for some reason this particular spell was proving difficult for her. She must be missing something vital from the class), more translation practice, completing an arithmetic calendar for April, Potions, oh _Potions!_ Snape hated her; Hermione knew that, and the essay he wanted on the one brew that she hadn't already practiced felt intentional. And Buckbeak's case. Can't forget that, though Hermione rather wished she could. If it was truly done for as Jezibell believed, than spending time on it was just as pointless. Harry and Ron were trying to help as they said, but were similarly swamped with work, Quidditch practice and anti-Dementor lessons. She wished it could just solve itself. Wasn't Lucius Malfoy's wrath satisfied yet? Hadn't Hagrid suffered enough?

Someone had forgotten to shut the window. Hermione could hardly blame them, the spring breeze was delightful after breathing the stagnant castle air all day, but the fluttering curtains weren't helping her sleep. She nuzzled into her pillow, beseeching her mind to shut off for a few hours. This shouldn't be such a problem. All her homework was done and she had read eight chapters in the Moderate Translation Guide to boot. It had taken a lot of consolidating to insure that she had time for at least seven hours of sleep each day. Sleep was worth it. Sleep was important, vital for a healthy mind and body. Want to lose weight? Sleep. Want to be prepared for a long run? Sleep. Want to relieve stress? Sleep! Need a sharp mind for exam practice? _Sleep_! Sigh.

Hermione got up and took two hands on the window doors to shut them firmly. Latch and good. A mummer came from the closest four-poster and Hermione worried that she may have disturbed the occupant, but a rolling snore resumed. Jezibell. She still hadn't forfeited the window bed.

It was twelve fif – one a.m., by the magical light of Jezibell's watch. Hermione was still depending on her for the time of day, having not received the fervently wished for Christmas present. It wasn't inconvenient as they shared most of their classes, save Ancient Runes, and Hermione sat in plain view of the clock in that one. Jezibell didn't mind. In fact Hermione had the impression the reserved girl rather liked being depended on. She always wanted to pay for things and was true to her word in keeping Hermione's secret. One of them, anyway. The clouds drifted lazily across the dim light of a crescent moon.

But the werewolf wasn't her secret to tell. She may dangle invisible carrots before Harry and Ron to cut them down a size, but Hermione knew that if Professor Lupin didn't think the information mattered he would have been open with them from the start. From what Hermione had read when she first figured it out, werewolves were the most prejudiced group in wizarding society, save muggleborns and half-giants. If Hermione hadn't also known about the Wolfsbane potion, she too would be sick with worry that a horror movie monster was loose on the grounds once a month. So it was best to hold her tongue and protect the good-natured Professor from his legacy. So far, this was disappointingly easy. But as the year went on and Professor Lupin's absences became more regular, someone might put it together. Jezibell had been asking before the holidays about him having dog and Hermione did her best to support this speculation. Hopefully, that was as close as suspicions would go. After all with Sirius Black's mysterious entries, the sickly professor was the least of anybody's concerns.

The moon rose, the watch ticked, and Hermione after some trepidation lit a candle and opened an Arithmancy textbook. She woke five hours later, her forehead pasted to a flow chart.

Giggles greeted her for breakfast. Hermione ignored Parvati and Lavender and buttered her toast. Brooding over her porridge, Jezibell was one of only a few people at the Gryffindor table. In fact most of the Hogwarts population was elsewhere.

"Where are Harry and Ron?"

"Take a wild guess," Jezibell said. She was referring to the Quidditch pitch, of course. The match that would decide if the cup went to Gryffindor or Slytherin was tomorrow, so Captain Wood wanted his team in peak condition. Harry had been practicing mornings and evenings every day, save for Wednesday when Professor Lupin taught him how to fight Dementors. His absence really was no mystery and Ron and the other Quidditch enthusiasts were likely with him. Hermione knew that. She was just making conversation.

Lavender, a few seats down, broke suddenly into full-fledged laughter. "And when – when, we saw her this morning, she was snogging a textbook –"

"Talk about having your nose in book, ha -"

"I'm not even kidding here, no, really! I think she was up all night buried in the thing. Wasn't even this bad in first year when she'd –"

The girls caught sight of Hermione then and Lavender clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Bu_-sted_," sang Padma Patil from Ravenclaw.

"_Shush up_!" Lavender choked out, her face turning pink, "Erm, good morning, Hermione!" she squeaked out before dissolving into hilarity.

"How did you sleep?" Parvati smiled broadly.

"Like a lullaby," Hermione told her. A lullaby played by Sir Nicholas's birthday orchestra. The girls laughed in a bubbling fountain of acid rain, "It was quite refreshing, after all the work I've been completing for exams. I haven't seen you studying much, are you sure you're prepared?"

"I've been studying plenty!" Parvati abruptly flushed angrily, "I just like to have a life outside of the library. We can't all be Wonder Girl, you know! Some of us loosen up once in a while to have fun with friends and bother to do something with our hair in the morning. When was the last time you touched yours?"

"Likely around the same time Malfoy wore something besides that boring old hairband," Lavender chuckled.

"She doesn't wear it to please you," Hermione scowled, "And for your information, I have a life with friends."

"You mean Ron and Harry? Has Scabbers come back to life yet?"

"Ron and I settled that!"

"How about the Firebolt," Parvati jabbed, "I heard you wanted to have it stripped down when Harry first got it. You're such good friends, but you're not even going to watch him practice before the biggest game of his life."

"It's only practice, and I just woke up," Hermione floundered.

"_We_ were about to go watch 'just practice' until lessons started. Care to join?"

Hermione didn't want to spend any more time in their company while Parvati was in this cutting mood and besides needed to recheck with Professor Flitwick that she was getting the Cheering Charms completely right, so declined. Both parties left the Great Hall, Lavender still snickering. Jezibell went back to Gryffindor tower and Hermione made for the Charms teachers office, trying not to dwell on Parvati's remarks. She was just annoyed that Hermione brought up her study habits. Nothing she said was meant.

The Professor confirmed Hermione's suspicion that she had motions and vocals spot on but didn't fully understand the intention behind the charms, "There are some spells that require more mental effort than simply waving your wand around. You have to be in a certain state of mind for them to operate. Cheering Charms are a basic introduction to this variety as the emotion is not terribly complex. You are trying to make somebody happy. You can't do that and be in foul mood yourself, now can you?"

"So, to overly simplify, you want me to go to my happy place?" Hermione asked a little incredulous. This was school, not therapy.

"That's one to think; though positive empathy is how I'd phrase it. Yes, you have to be happy but you also have to see someone else as happy. If you want to challenge yourself for the exam I would suggest a stoic personality as a subject," He chuckled to himself, "Your friend Miss Malfoy, for instance, if she would oblige. Incidentally, she is doing quite excellently with the spell herself. I have a class of sixth years in minutes; perhaps you should carry your concerns over to her_. Hmm?"_

Hermione thanked him and left for her first period classes. Jezibell was doing excellently with Cheering Charms_. Cheering_ Charms. Cheerful and its synonyms were not words typically associated Jezibell Malfoy, at least not without an emphatic _**not **_between. Hermione kept quiet on the Professor's suggestion during the walk with Jezibell to and from Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, still unable to picture her giving serious advice on anything much less how to be happy. Hermione decided to wait until evening into the common room to ask.

This plan quickly proved mission impossible upon returning to a Gryffindor Tower in the middle of celebration for the earthshattering match tomorrow. Everybody took turns assuring the Quidditch team they'd beat the Slytherins as always. Harry accepted their confidence with his eyes round as galleons, twitching in his seat. The Slytherin team operated a no-holds-barred policy under normal circumstances, and with the Cup at stake they would be positively ruthless, particularly to the opposing seeker with a Firebolt advantage. Hermione would be sure to bring her wand.

"EEEEEAaaaugh!"

A shriek came from the right side staircase, quickly followed by a traumatized Parvati and Lavender running into the common room. For a few minutes they were unintelligible.

"_It's horrible_ – I just went up for my –"

"Disgusting thing –"

"All browny-gray and _staring_ –"

"My bed! It's on _my bed_! I can't _sleep_ in there –"

"Calm down," Katie Bell put a hand on Parvati's shoulder, "What's on your bed?"

"The worst, most hideous thing," Parvati's words became clearer now that she had the whole tower's attention.

"Sirius Black?" Neville skydived to conclusions.

"_Worse_," Lavender moaned.

"How about you take me up and show me," Katie Bell offered kindly. Parvati and Lavender lead her up the stairs, Katie giving a probably-just-a-cockroach-or-something look to their audience.

Harry, Ron and Hermione promptly looked to Jezibell for an explanation. Jezibell looked to Emmy. Emmy licked her paws and Hermione's curiosity inflamed. She ventured to the girl's dormitory.

What was sitting on Parvati's bed wasn't a cockroach or Sirius Black. It appeared to be world's largest dust bunny. And the most ghastly. A coppery hollow mass of fur in a vague broken form rested on a pillow. It had a head. A spade shaped mold with hollow sockets where the eyes should be that was partially detached from the rest of the structure, a figure uncannily familiar. A ghostly cat formed of shed hair. Hermione could hardly blame Parvati for crying out.

"Oh, _Merlin_," Katie looked a bit green at the sight and Lavender was shaking, "I'll get rid of… this. You go back downstairs. Tell them its roaches. Just a couple."

The Weasley twins were disappointed.

"A few bugs, that's it?" Fred asked Hermione, "Like to confirm it for ourselves, but we'd hate to disrespect the lady's privacy –"

"As if that's ever stopped you before," smirked Angelina Johnson.

"We were curious," George shrugged, unashamed.

"Team!" Captain Wood broke the banter when Katie Bell reappeared, still on the nauseous side, "Bed!"

Harry and his mates trooped to their dormitories obediently, Ron and most of the common room soon to follow. A few self-conscious students remained to clean up the pre-match candy wrapper and toasting stick mess. Jezibell resumed her reading by the fire. This would be the ideal time for Hermione to finish up that homework without distractions, but there was a more pressing matter at hand.

"Why did you have Emmy do that?" Hermione stared down at Jezibell's bowed head.

"I didn't," Jezibell said indifferently with her eyes on the novel, "Emmy does what she likes and she usually leaves her castings by the greenhouses. I'm just as surprised."

That was a blatant lie; Jezibell did not look remotely startled. Playing a prank on Parvati wasn't something Emmy could or would do on her own. Jezibell settling her score with the girls she so despised made sense, but there was no reason for her to have waited until today. Nothing was significant or ironic about April the fifteenth that she would find amusing. Except. This morning Parvati gave Hermione grief and now was punished in the most brutal and, dare Hermione admit it, hilarious way available. Jezibell was, in her backhanded way, being nice.

"You should say sorry to Parvati even so," Hermione offered after a pause, knowing full well her suggestion be ignored on principle, "I'd like to ask you about something else too. It's the Cheering Charms, I'm positive they're going to come up in the exam and I'm still having trouble with the spell. Do you think you could help?"

Jezibell described to Hermione in detail how she cast the spell. In the moment after the wand movement and before the incantation, she said she cleared her mind of whatever emotion she thought was bothering the subject. Bliss is the absence of problems, so worry was often the dispensable feeling. At first, Hermione found this method counterproductive. It was the exact opposite to what she had been doing, forcing a sentiment instead of discarding an unwanted one. After a while it became easier, almost meditative. Perhaps this was how Jezibell handled everything so coolly detached, by systematically removing emotions she deemed distracting. She'd convinced Emmy to be a guinea pig and after a few rounds, a dopey glazed expression came upon the hybrid. Hermione herself was elated.

"I got it! I think I've got it!" She crowed, experiencing the unfamiliar joy of achieving what was thought to be impossible.

"By George," Jezibell muttered disinterestedly rubbing Emmy between the ears. Hermione knew that Jezibell must be happy for her too, or at least glad she was now at liberty to go to bed.

"Thank you, really. That eradicated lot of pointless chapter reviewing out of my schedule. If there are any classes _you're_ having trouble with, I'd be happy to help," Hermione meant it completely this time, "Herbology, for instance, Professor Sprout's been on your case about replanting Trumpeters, hasn't she? I could show you some reference books about perennials."

"It's more the plants themselves then book work," Jezibell slid a marker into her novel, "But there is an extracurricular problem."

"Alright, what's it about?"

"Professor Lupin."

Hermione didn't answer, taken completely off guard. She thought this over with.

"Or lack thereof," Jezibell clarified, disregarding Hermione's shocked silence, "Maybe you noticed his frequent, almost scheduled, absences."

_How much did she know? _

"He_ has_ been out quite a lot for a professor, but Professor Dumbledore said it was a cold." Hermione worked to sound casual, "Why, do you think it's suspicious?"

"Just queer, if it were that alone. Emmy noticed other peculiarities. He smelled 'wild' especially after his sick days. I think he's been going somewhere during those times, likely through the Forbidden Forest, and doesn't want students to know. Dumbledore does, he covered for him at the feast, and possibly Snape since he was part of the excuse, but he doesn't approve. "

It took a lot of muscle control for Hermione not to let her jaw drop. Jezibell missed the target, but hit the tree squarely. Unbelievable, she had figured out everything but the most crucial detail. Hermione just needed to convince her of the same.

"That's quite a leap," Hermione acted skeptical, "Do you have any idea what Professor Lupin might be doing in the forest? Or why Snape wouldn't like it?"

"Not me, exactly," Jezibell visibly hesitated, "Hermione, I haven't been straight up. You remember when Harry was troubled about a death omen. The Grim."

"Of course I remember. How could I forget with Professor Trelawney going on about it every other class?" But what did have to do with Professor Lupin? Did she think he was an illegal Animagus?

"He said he saw it again, a few times, around Hogwarts. It must be a real dog, he isn't dead yet. It always came when Professor Lupin was out for the day and nobody else remembers seeing it. You'd think they would, being a morbid superstition, but Harry's the only one. We think this dog belongs to Professor Lupin and is stalking Harry on his command. Have you seen anything?"

"I haven't, but if Professor Lupin has a dog, it would explain a lot," Hermione answered, relieved, "He could keep off grounds and let it out when he's taking sick leave. Snape doesn't like idea of Professor Lupin having anything nice. I can completely see him telling poor Professor Lupin his dog isn't allowed. Maybe he keeps it away because he knows what it might look like to a student passing by. It gets out every now and again and really likes Harry, because what lonely dog wouldn't? How come Harry hasn't talked to Ron and me about seeing the Grim himself? I could have told him how ridiculous the whole death omen business was and Ron may have noticed something about Professor Lupin."

"He didn't want you worried. It would worry him and make him lose concentration on the match. He'll start looking after tomorow. "

That explained why Jezibell hadn't told Hermione about Harry's paranoia from the start. She didn't want to betray his confidence. Now that it was out, however, Hermione would have to act quickly and convince Harry he was barking the wrong metaphorical tree before he found out the truth. She was sure the dog in question was merely a stray that happened to really like Harry, or just Harry's overactive imagination giving him grief before the match.

"He really shouldn't be stressed about some silly superstition when facing Slytherin," Hermione decided aloud, regaining her calm, "I'll talk to him about the dog before the match."

Jezibell nodded, "I would, but you're better for it."

A genuine compliment. More evidence Jezibell could be civil when she felt like it. Perhaps Hermione was writing this off too quickly, but Jezibell seemed in a much better mood this evening than usual. That could just be the Cheering Charms, though. Hermione yawned, satisfied with her plan for tomorrow. Tonight, however, the only item on her agenda was well earned sleep.

* * *

_West Hogwarts Grounds, April Seventeenth_

Hermione acted as Jezibell predicted. The morning after their telling conversation, Hermione took Harry aside from the breakfast table, presumably to reassure him that the Grim wasn't something real and he should keep his head on about the issue. Harry had returned to the table, fuming, just in time for Captain Wood to call the team to the changing rooms. Good old Wood. The following match was one of the most intense and dirty Jezibell had ever been a spectator of. The Slytherins gleefully threw whatever knowledge of the rules they had out the window when Draco decided to piggyback Harry's broom. The Weasley twins did not improve sportsmanship by repeatedly abusing the use of their bats. The game was won with an aggressive capture of the snitch by Harry, who had played the game like he was angry at someone. Not a bad frame of mind for the results, but Jezibell was fairly confident she was that special someone. Sadly, Harry did not have the opportunity to express his skills in levitating bricks as he was swept in the ensuing tide of Quidditch Cup euphoria. Now, the day after, Jezibell awaited the inevitable reckoning after Harry escaped fans and admirers from 75% of the school.

The spot she chose for this vigil was under a tree fifty meters or so from the lake, where she could feel the benefits of the pleasant mid spring sun while shaded from the glare. Legs stretched on the crisp grass shoots, Jezibell watched the other carefree students who decided they could take a day off from anxiety. Down the slope, a clutch of curious Ravenclaws were coaxing the Giant Squid to the surface with breakfast leftovers. To the north over the Quidditch stadium, a few whizzing insects enjoyed the finally freed up pitch. Jezibell would be one of them, had she not lent Ron her Nimbus to give him somewhere else to be. Hermione was already out of the way in the library and Emmy was napping in the common room. Jezibell saw no reason to put off her talk with Harry any longer. She knew she had explaining to do and would prefer presenting her case while it made sense.

Harry found her a little after she began chapter nine of the eleventh _Time After Time_ book, _Four Minutes_. His dark expression contrasted the setting to the point where it was comical. He stood over her for a few moments, gathering himself. He was breathing hard, partially from having to hike up the incline to reach her and irritation of the former.

"I know you're how Hermione knew I'd been seeing the Grim again," He was more wounded than angry, "Jez, there's a _reason_ I only told you. I didn't want Hermione going on about how it's just me being stupid or Ron saying I'm good as dead. I thought_ you_ of all people would be able to -"

He paused to reign in his temper, "I'm sure you have a reason. You always do. I just think I deserve to know the whole of it."

"You're right. I owe you," Jezibell gave in. This meeting was prearranged, but Harry didn't need to know that, "Sit down."

He remained on his feet. She began.

"I told Hermione as a cover to test a theory about Lupin."

"Why _Professor Lupin?_" Harry was already lost, "How – ?"

"Because shut up, I'm explaining everything. For this to make sense, I'm starting from the top. We'll get to the Grim later because it's a red herring."

"I've suspected, for a while, that Lupin has a connection to Sirius Black. Snape believes the same and Hermione knows some of it. First Snape. Remember the conversation between him and Dumbledore night of the first Black Attack?"

He nodded, "He was saying that he thought Black had help in entering the castle. Something about staff appointments, too. You think he was talking about Lupin."

"At the risk of sounding Hermione-ish, it's obvious."

"Alright, but that says nothing! Of course Snape was trying to put the blame on Lupin. He hates him and wants his job."

"Yeah, Snape hates him, but it's not just the job or the stuffed vulture trick. There are different shades of loathing and Snape didn't hate _No-head_ this much. Lupin has the same special warrant of Snape-hate stuck to his forehead that you do. There's bad blood between them, even if it's one sided."

"Snape hates me because of my father," Harry offered, "They knew each other at school."

"Well?"

"Dumbledore said it was about as well as me and Draco."

"Hand-me-down hate."

"I guess," Harry looked as though there were more to his story but hesitated to confide, "Lupin told me that he also knew my dad from school. And Black. But that doesn't prove anything."

"Except that Lupin also knew Snape. This could be just a petty personal problem. Did Dumbledore say why Snape and your father hated each other?"

"Er…" This was the part Harry was reluctant about, "There was an incident. Apparently my dad saved Snape's life at one point. So I get hand-me-down life debt too."

"Quite the dilemma for Snape," Jezibell commented.

"Quite the dilemma for _me_, I got a taste of his guilt complex in first year and he's been making my life hell ever since," Harry pushed his glasses up his nose irritably, "But back to what you were saying. I'm guessing something big went down twenty some years ago at Hogwarts where Snape's life was saved by my dad. It gave him an eternal loathing to his rescuer, a deep mistrust of Lupin and probably Black was there too."

"It's guaranteed he was," Jezibell reasoned, "If Snape knew your father, he must have known Sirius and therefore Lupin. They probably felt the same towards Sirius as they did your father, as their school-day characters went hand in hand. Snape is a smart man. He would only complain to Dumbledore if he felt it legitimate. This is why. Lupin was friends with Sirius at school and Snape sees this as a close enough connection for Lupin to be Sirus's insider."

"I don't," Harry said bluntly, "Lupin has nothing to hide with Black. He said he 'thought' he knew him. What's obvious is that your theory brings us back to what I already know. Snape is trying frame Lupin because of a grudge that no longer applies."

"That would be true, if it weren't for Emmy."

"Emmy?"

"Emmy. Back in October before any of this started, I sent her into DADA class every few days to see if there was anything weird with the new professor –"

"And I thought_ I_ was paranoid," Harry rolled his eyes.

"It made sense given how the last two DADA teachers turned out and in light of what she found. She could explain it to you best. Lupin's… smell was 'wild' to her, as though he had been hanging around the forbidden forest. Canine, like a dog owner's, but stronger than it should be. Coincidentally around the same time, Emmy found your Grim."

"_What_?" That got his attention, "The _actual dog_!"

"No, the flowering shrub. _Yes,_ the dog."

"_When was this_? Why don't you tell me these things? I've been looking over my shoulder for months, waiting to see it and have a near death experience again. If I'd known it was _real -"_

"Nothing's proven. It could be you're _both_ dead," Jezibell smirked, "But I doubt it."

Harry's face was trying to decide which emotion was more important: annoyance or excitement, "I need see if this is true. Ask Emmy where –"

"I'm not an owl," Jezibell informed him, "If you want Emmy to tell you something, ask."

"I can do that?" Harry came up short. Apparently the thought never occurred to him. If his parseltongue worked the way he said it did, it shouldn't be a problem to talk to the hybrid. He stayed silent for a moment, tracing his scar thoughtfully with a finger, considering, and Jezibell continued.

"Emmy hadn't come close enough to the Grim-dog to smell it, so she couldn't tell the owner. As they showed up the same year and with Lupin's canine affiliation, the dog is likely his. There's a whole world of speculation as to why he might have a conspicuous dog trailing you that only you've noticed. It's the only part of the theory that I told Hermione."

"Yeah, you mentioned that. You think Hermione knows something?"

"I _know_ Hermione knows something, we all do. She told us."

"That was just her getting back at me and Ron, she doesn't really –"

"Yet when I brought the subject of Lupin directly, she played dumb. Quite a change of tact. I offered your Grim as a reason why I was asking her about Lupin. She was immediately more open. She needed an excuse to explain Lupin's absences. Then I made it your idea and after the match you'd be more active in searching for connections. The first thing she did was run to tell you not to worry, to keep you from looking further."

Jezibell paused for a response and to rest her tongue. Harry had sat down after completing his rant and was now cross-legged beside her.

"You really can't ask a straight question to save your life, can you?" He muttered. "Or take anyone for granted. What you say makes sense, kind of, but I can't believe Hermione would be lying to us, or Lupin has been helping Black all this time trying to kill me. He's the best professor I've had, helping me with the Dementor problem and gives great advice over tea. Why would he be teaching me to protect myself if he's with Black?"

Jezibell only needed to give him a look for that one.

"Ok, stupid question. What about Dumbledore? He hired Lupin so he must trust him."

"I don't trust Dumbledore," Jezibell was being more dramatic than she felt. She respected the headmaster, but after witnessing his layered conversation with Father last year, she would never put him on a white pedestal.

"Who _do_ you trust?" Harry asked in incredulous rhetorical, "Look, why don't you just ask Lupin about this. Even if you're right and he's faking, he'll answer to keep up the charade."

Jezibell wasn't comfortable approaching Lupin with anything, much less suspicions about his intentions with Harry, "It would be more convincing if you - "

"I'm not an owl," Harry echoed, thinking he was clever. He wasn't sold on the theory; if he was he would be off to Dumbledore's office this instant. Maybe it _would_ be better if she did the asking. If Hermione had gotten in too far and was made to keep her mouth shut, they might decide to act more radically if Harry found out. Better keep part two of the theory quiet.

"You ask Emmy, I ask Lupin."

"Deal," He nodded curtly, raising his right hand slightly as if he wanted to shake on it but changed his mind, "Emmy's at Gryffindor Tower, right?"

"Fireside chair," she confirmed. They stood simultaneously, closer than comfortable for either and took a wary step back. The trust was gone, had been since the common room argument, but they would keep the unspoken alliance formed in the Chamber. She was on his side; still Jez.

* * *

_Nemesis_

She dozed quite comfortably in a sunning spot conveniently lighting her favorite chair when Harry Potter entered the common room. Emmy was warm-blooded, as Jezibell once informed her, so it wasn't vital for her to recline in the sun every day to keep it flowing, but thousands of years' worth of slithering ancestors doing the same did not disincline the habit. She ignored the kid in favor of listening to the faint buzzing of bees outside the open window, until she heard heavy human footsteps unusually close to her ear. His mouth worked for a moment, swallowing and moistening repeatedly in a state of undeniable nervousness. Intrigued, Emmy woke herself up a bit.

Harry Potter muttered something in English and then tried again, louder. On the third time he got it.

"_Emmy, er, can I talk to you?"_

"_Evidently,"_ Emmy hissed easily amused, "_I was wondering when you'd figure it out."_

"_Yeah, well it wasn't my figuring, exactly,"_ a scratching sound came that was likely him rubbing the back his neck. Humans sometimes did that when they felt awkward. For Emmy, a good shake of the tail worked fine, "_Anyway, I want to talk to you about the G-, the dog you saw. The big black one."_

"_You know, the last time I saw that thing was months ago. Took her this long to get the word out?_" Emmy imitated human laughter by purring through her hiss, "_Typical."_

"_Tell me about it," _His heart rate increased in the angry way, but upon tasting the air Emmy didn't find hostility very strong. He was fondly aggravated. Cute. "_Please do, actually. The dog. Where did you see it? When? How many times? Who else was near it?"_

"_Near the Gamekeepers place, usually by the greenhouses. Late evening, way past your bedtime. Twice in the flesh, but a bunch of others I must have just missed it judging by the reek. Nobody's around at the time, save the Gamekeeper and the plant lady, who're just minding their business. Did I pass?"_

"_This is great!"_ He was starting to sweat slightly now, excited, "_If you can see it that proves I'm not crazy!"_

"_May I remind you that you are talking to a cat?" _

"_Please,"_ he snorted derisively, "_Talking cats are least weird thing I've come across since my eleventh birthday. If I stopped to think about everything, it'd probably disappear in a puff of logic."_

Kid had a point. The Hogwarts Quidditch stadium seated 1200 though there couldn't be more than 300 students, the first day of school was always a Monday and always September first and Harry Potter was speaking to her now despite never learning parseltongue. Life doesn't have to make sense, it just has to work. "_So if you heard of my little encounter, you must know the rest of the conspiracy."_

"_Yeah,"_ He repeated, more subdued, "_Do you think Jez is right?"_

"_I don't think about it too much. What you said, poof of logic? Maybe she is, maybe she isn't. I can't honestly tell or care one way or the other, but I wasn't lying when I said there is something off with your precious professor. Anyway, how do you know she's not feeding you a load of toad spawn for a laugh?"_

"_I don't," _he said quietly. Emmy opened an eye and was a little surprised to find the kid on his knees in front of her, like she was the Buddha cat or something. Not a bad arrangement. "_No, she's not outright lying. Even Malfoys have standards. But I don't think she's telling everything, which is why I'm here."_

"_More pop-quizzes?" _

"_If you don't mind. It wouldn't feel like betrayal if you told me something she hadn't, would it?"_

"_Not particularly. I'm a cat, not a dog. Not big on loyalty. Or lying. No point, since it's not my problem."_

"_Er, good. I guess," _Harry Potter then basically said back to Emmy what Jezibell had been telling her for months about the new professor and Sirius Black. He'd been told a lot, more than Emmy expected from her mistress, but still missed a few points.

"_She hasn't told you the deal with the map, for one."_

"_The Marauder's?"_

"_Sure, the one the Weasley twins gave you. She planned a gambit to find out why they did."_

"_Right, she said about that before winter break when I first used it. She thinks they have some ulterior motive to stick me with a dark object, even though that map has done nothing but help me. Has she always been like that, expecting the worst of everyone?" _

"_Jezibell has a very different perception of the twins then you. As far as she knows, they live to put dungbombs in people's porridge bowls and biting dandelions in Valentine 's Day cards."_

Harry looked at his knees, ashamed for his own contribution to the hell that was last year. Emmy didn't really aim her comment at him, though. He'd paid his debts by saving Jezibell's life and becoming her friend. Emmy decided to give him a little more than he asked for, "_She also thinks that it's valuable to Lupin and Black. More than just being treasure map to where you are. There was a list of authors for it, right? Loony, Pawprint and Tongs?"_

"_Misers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," _he recited.

"_She thinks they're nicknames or pseudonyms. She thinks they mean Lupin, Sirius, Snape and your dad."_

His heartbeat skipped, "_Why?"_

"_Best I can tell? It's a hunch. She saw the four names, and saw the four men the same age that seemed to be connected. Your dad and Black were best buds, Snape hates Lupin on deep rooted level for knowing Black on a deep rooted level."_

"_That's not what I asked. Why didn't she tell me? There's always something I'm not being told. You'd think that a mad theory about my dad would be important for me to know, but apparently it doesn't make Jez's list. This is just like when she didn't tell me about Black and my parents."_

"_I'm pretty sure that was a misunderstanding –"_

"No_, it wasn't!" Now_ he was angry, "_She didn't tell me because she doesn't care and what Black did to me and my parents makes no matter to her, so why bother? It's not about her, why would it be important to anybody else? I heard what she said while I was in the dormitory. She thinks worrying for other people is a job."_

"_I knew you were listening. And she was sorry."_

"_So why doesn't she _say so_? Jez just doesn't get it. He was my dad's best man at their wedding, had to be just months before... Thinking you know somebody and then they go and make you miserable because someone else had a better deal is the worst, lowest thing a person can do, and she thinks it's natural and makes no difference. There was no misunderstanding. She is not sorry and never will be."_

Emmy looked down at him archly until he finished, happy not for the first time that she was below human dramas, "_When I said misunderstanding, I didn't mean the moral issues. Jezibell understands plenty, more than you think. More than she thinks. She'll figure it out sooner or later, and you'll get your sorrys. Trust me."_

* * *

_Defense Against the Dark Arts Study, Afternoon_

Knock, knock.

"Who is it?"

It's the plumber; I've come to fix the sink.

"Jezibell Malfoy, Gryffindor third year," she added, as if he didn't know.

Pause.

"The door is open, come right in."

Jezibell entered Lupin's office cautiously. Harry came here for anti-Dementor lessons regularly for weeks and the door was unlocked, so she didn't expect anything overtly suspicious. However with recent speculations in mind, the ordinary little study was jarring. Jezibell had only seen this room once before, half-lit at the time with much larger concerns than surroundings, but the change was hard to miss. Where its narcissistic previous occupant placed self-portraits on every flat surface, Lupin had set up posters and diagrams of dark creatures. Portable book shelves lined the walls and a collapsible chest of drawers claimed a corner. It was clear Lupin lead a mobile, and by the shape everything was in, unstable life.

"No worries, you're not interrupting anything crucial. Just finishing up grades for some of my fourth year," the Professor swiveled around on a ragged chair behind his desk. He shluffed a stack of parchment to the side, reordered some other papers before him and rubbed his temples in a way that channeled Hermione and the ridiculous stress she put upon herself, "You want to talk to me about something?"

"Couple somethings,"Jezibell had the interrogation mapped out. The absences, his relations with Snape, a talk with Hermione and about the confiscated map, "Harry says you give great advice."

"I do my best," he smiled amiably sipping his tea, "Would you take a seat? I can pour you a cup, if you'd like," he added when she did.

"Black," Jezibell kept a twisted smile to herself. A spasm of emotion crossed his face, nostalgia into pain. If that wasn't confirmation, she didn't know what was. He turned quickly, busying himself with a condensed stove apparatus. Tea poured, seat retaken, the Professor leaned back on his chair to focus out the window. Jezibell sipped in silence for few moments. The tea was dirt but hot enough so it didn't matter.

"I believe know why you're here," He started, "But the Marauder's Map is not up for negotiation."

"Sir?" Maybe her mind game had been too obvious.

"You must understand the risk it was, a map that can show where Harry is in the school at any given time and all the pathways that may lead to him," Lupin looked genuinely disappointed, "I would have thought this obvious to anyone who knew Harry's situation as well as yourself."

Ah, this wasn't about his shady activity. Lupin was guilt tripping her. The irony was palpable. Jezibell threw him a bone, letting him give a good talk about responsibility and Harry's value. Gradually she worked the dialogue to other subjects, namely Snape, and Lupin admitted they knew each other from before this year, but not well. That was his first lie. When she brought up the absences, Lupin gave his excuse of being under the weather about half a month ago. Jezibell hadn't been keeping track of the exact dates, and now wondered if she should have. Lupin looked in peak condition right now, and so would likely be 'out sick' again in another half month. Meaning the absences were monthly. Interesting. Eventually, the conversation turned to herself as that's what Jezibell was supposedly here in the first place for.

"Are you getting along with the exam practice alright? I understand this is your second year taking them."

"First," She corrected, "They were cancelled last year due to - ah, complications."

"Yes, and if my sources are accurate, you and Harry were at the heart of them," He joked easily, friendly even, but kept glancing at her directly, than quickly looking back at the window. It was distracting as Jezibell stared steadily and gave the impression he couldn't look her in the eye. Well, he wasn't unique in that. "So do you think you're ready for mine? I can't tell you much, but it will cover everything you've done this year."

"I'm ready."

"Even for the Boggart?" He asked lightly.

"Yes," she punctuated the response with the tea cup, "Especially the Boggart."

"You're prepared for whatever it may show you?" There was a trace of skepticism.

"Immovably. Professor, I'm not afraid of anything," Not anything a Boggart could show her, anyway. But the comment was also layered with You-can't-threaten-me-so-don't-try.

"I see," He said, though he couldn't possibly, "I take it the Dementors also have little effect on you."

Jezibell couldn't keep a scowl from crossing her face, "I don't fear Dementors; I hate them."

"Fear and hate often keep close company," He told the window quietly, "As do hate and love."

There was silence for a bit, Jezibell brooding over the Dementors. She hated them for making her weak. For making her feel things she repressed for two years now. Helplessness, terror, pain. For showing her what she worked so hard to forget. Love never fit into the equation.

"Don't overestimate your own strength." Lupin said abruptly. He was watching her steadily now and the weary lines made his face look much older than records claimed.

"Professor?" That was odd advice for teacher to be giving, possibly a thickly veiled warning?

"I mean this as a word of advice, and I'm afraid it may be a little biased" His words cam stilted, "You remind me very much of someone else, Jezibell. Someone else, who took their tea black, caused many a complication and was an immensely valued friend. Who thought they weren't afraid of anything. I thought the same."

He thought. Like the friend he thought he knew. Sirius Black, cousin to Narcissa, mother to Jezibell. Suddenly a lot about Lupin's behavior made sense. A lot about the theory did, too. When she first put the Marauders together with James Potter and his friends, she had put Snape in their number. But by what Harry said by what Dumbledore said, this was wrong. Snape was the Draco to the Marauders' Harry, Ron and Hermione. Or, that's how Lupin saw things. Lining them up as he had, Harry to his dad, Sirius to herself, Hermione to Lupin's bookish character, she found an empty spot. There four marauders, four friends not three. So who was unaccounted for?

Jezibell stood up, "Thank you for the tea and advice, Professor. Harry didn't lie, it was helpful. I need to check with Ron and my Nimbus. See if it's still flyable."

"Of course, you should enjoy some fresh air. I might come out myself, once these papers are done," Lupin smiled.

_That fat little boy who was always tagging after them at Hogwarts. _Rosemerta's words came back to her from five months ago. There wasn't really a way to present it, now that she was leaving, though. _You really can't ask a straight question to save your life, can you?_ But what if it wasn't _her_ life that needed saving. Jezibell stopped in the doorway, "Professor, how did you know Peter Pettigrew?"

Lupin raised his eyebrows, "He was a schoolmate in my year. A good friend and often understated, then. Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity. He was the wizard who died confronting Sirius, and in the Order of the Phoenix with you. An offhand thought. Good afternoon, Professor."

She exited the office, long and fast paced to Gryffindor tower. She'd found her missing link, but things still weren't adding up with Lupin. Her logic was unaffected, but the sincerity of the professor when he spoke to her about the friend he lost made her falter. No matter right now, she had another to attend which happened to be right around the corner.

The Weasley twins ambushed her with a dungbomb incased pie with what they probably thought instigated of the element of surprise. This impression was swiftly dissolved when Jezibell deflected the projectile neatly with her impervious charmed bag. Offers to exchange information on Patil's incident for Magical Mess Remover died on the brothers' lips.

"You can have your answers, if I get mine," Jezibell let her bag drop.

The twins exchanged a glance.

"I told you we should have come from behind," One chastised the other.

"You kidding me, mate? She was ready for us. We could have dropped from the ceiling dressed as monkeys and still would be caught," said the other, who Jezibell hazarded to be George. He looked back to her, "We accept your terms, but we get ours first."

Jezibell nodded, "Try running out of mine and Filch'll hear of that dungbomb mess and who did it within four minutes."

"Can't you take anyone for granted?" Fred teased, but they knew better than to test her bluff, "Alright, what did you put on Miss Patil's bed that was so scream invoking?"

"And don't pretend it was bed-bugs, we know Katy made that up," George cautioned.

"Would you believe growth charmed bed-bugs?"

"Oh, you're more creative than that."

"A self-portrait."

"Reasonable," Fred admitted, "but you can't draw."

"Flowering shrub."

"No sell."

"Emmy's beheaded casting of shed fur and dead skin."

"That even _sounds_ repulsive," said George.

"If the shoe fits," mused Fred, "But you're just messing with us now. And since you've already had your question I think we'll –"

"Which one of us is holding the dungbomb pack?" Jezibell threatened.

"Keep your glare on, we're not going anywhere. Now, what does the inartistic creatively repulsive young lady want to know?"

"And no, we don't give autographs to Malfoys." George put in.

Jezibell ignored him, "Does the Marauder's Map have glitches?"

They exchanged a second glance, this time wary.

"Define _glitch_," Fred said shiftily.

"The reason you giftwrapped Harry your Holy Grail, besides the goodness of your collective hearts." Jezibell stressed the sarcasm in 'goodness' to a breaking point, "I will be checking what you tell me (Utter bluff, but she didn't think Harry would have told them he lost it); so do put some long neglected thought into your next words."

"There are a few names that come up," George admitted, "For people that aren't there. We're pretty sure it's just students passed –"

"Who?"

"They're the names, nicknames we think, of the makers. We've seen Mr. Wormtail all the time, and this year Moony and Padfoot started showing up. Mr. Moony we thi -" His brother shut him up with a rib.

"That's the only problem we know of, and we used it for years. If Harry finds any more, it's not on us," Fred covered up his brother's slip up with a smooth disclaimer. But Jezibell had heard all she needed.

"Naturally. I'll be sure to tell him about the Misers Wormtail, Moony and Padfoot," Jezibell let them get down the corridor a good few yards before adding, "Wasn't there a fourth?"

"Prongs," answered George reflexively, "Misers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs."

An odd one out, but it was still the same four. Like the four houses, the four temperaments, four elements, four states of matter and the four friends past and present. All Jezibell needed now was to figure out how these fours applied to the future. Maybe Arithmancy wasn't such a wasted subject after all.


	13. An Immensely Valued Friend

An Immensely Valued Friend

_Gryffindor Common Room, June fifth_

After conferring in the common room, Harry's first move was to tell Ron. Jezibell saw this as an attempt to boost his moral superiority, an impression bolstered by the small rant he delivered about telling the truth, the _whole_ truth and nothing but so help her. Yeah, that was going to happen and she told him as much. Never the less, they met with Ron a few days after while Hermione was off studying someplace for Ancient Runes. He took the news of a possible betrayal and double agent rather well, with slightly more fidelity and less skepticism than Harry. Neither of them really caught on to the sign of four cropping up everywhere, but speculated about who the Misers of the map could be. Harry liked the idea they might be his father and friends, until Ron pointed out if Fred and George had been seeing Mr. Wormtail all the time the most likely candidate for him would be Snape. Harry reviled the idea of using anything belonging to his least favorite professor so topics then ran up the other side of the likability scale to Lupin and what in Jezibell's grand schemes of anarchy should be done next.

The thing is there wasn't much they _could_ do. The obvious move upon discovering a mutiny among the staff would be to tell the headmaster, but Snape already tried that and reaped no rewards. Jezibell considered presenting additional information about Harry's uninvited shadow and Lupin's habits, but she would also need to tellhow she got the information from her illegal snake-cat hybrid.

In the student directory, Emmy was listed as a _cat-snake_, a real animal also known as the bioga. The entry was correct in technicality but not spirit and if Dumbledore was aware of the whole truth he could use Emmy's questionable existence to distract her father from the hippogriff trial. It would work, to be sure, without Lucius Malfoy to be their backbone the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures Committee would be as overcooked spaghetti in Wizengamot. Jezibell had known for long how her familiar could turn the tables but in a choice between Emmy and Buckbeak Hagrid's feathered friend was out of luck. She wasn't about to expose her now.

They could steal the map back, which would be a good call if it had a place in Lupin's plans, if such plans existed in the first place and if they were caught it would look pretty bad. That was too many 'ifs' by Ron's count. Harry had the rather brilliant idea to catch the dog that so plagued him, a plan that made Ron fall out his chair at the thought of purposefully attracting a Grim. It was a pretty elaborate scheme. Harry even managed to rope Hermione into it under the impression that this would prove once and for all there were no such things as Grims. Ron smuggled various hams and sausages from breakfast one day when they had Herbology in the morning. About midway through the lesson, he asked to use the bathroom during which time he went around the back of the greenhouses and scattered the food where Emmy said she saw the dog. Later on, Hermione asked for the loo and set a sticking charm on the grass around the bait. During lunch break, they would go around to check the trap and reset it. This experiment was repeated several times at different days by the greenhouses and Hagrid's hut, but reaped nothing but a few lost cats, Filch, some ravens and Ron's trainers. Hermione declared she had better things to do, Ron agreed and Harry was forced to admit either the dog moved on. He wasn't exactly upset about it.

Jezibell clung to the idea that Lupin's next bout of MIA would be in another half month and something would happen then. When the half-month and Lupin's absence passed and nothing happened, Ron and Harry were satisfied that she was wrong. Jezibell wasn't nearly as comfortable letting the nest of coincidences she stumbled on go their befuddling way, but realized there wasn't much more she could do for sleuthing. They at least agreed not to tell Hermione about the rest of it. Ron said it would only make her mad and Harry let his campaign for honesty slide in favor of his friends' mental health.

It wasn't as though school stopped around them while they tended to the mystery. Exams were coming up and the teachers wouldn't let the students forget it for a second. And if they slipped up there was always Hermione and her slightly manic study habits to get their charges back in line. While Jezibell may not entirely support her flights of hubris, Hermione's tenacity warranted a level of respect. Jezibell's own lack of struggle with bucket loads of homework from every class was one lie nobody would believe. As addressed in the meeting with Lupin, this was the first year ever Jezibell would be taking exams and she hoped it wouldn't show. Such feelings of insecurity were nonexistent during last year's warm up, as she confided in Emmy the fevered before the marathon.

"_I don't why I'm worried. I never care about school. It's like Hermione's angst is catching_."

"_I know what it is_," Emmy tail twitched in bored manner, "_You must be falling victim of the Empathy Epidemic. It's a disease festered in the socially awkward when unwillingly thrust among their peers_."

Jezibell turned the hybrid's tongue into spatula for that one. But perhaps sarcasm and school books mix better than Professor Binns believed, as the first lap in Transfiguration went well. The questions on written exams looked familiar and the ones that didn't were figurable from their predecessors. In comparison to those in her immediate area Jezibell did not too bad on the practical either, though her transfigured teapot could have done without the glowing red eyes of Hades.

"Chalk it up to nerves," supposed Ron as the third year proceeded to Charms, "At least it was the whole reptile. Mine was still belching steam and smelled like watery Earl Grey."

"Mine looked like a turtle," Hermione fretted, "A salt water turtle! Tortoises are land reptiles, everybody knows that!"

So it could've gone worse. To Hermione it soon did. The girls were partners for the Charms practical and the advice Jezibell had given Hermione backfired entirely. Good luck sympathizing with the person who thinks you're a turncoat. Jezibell actually did feel relatively more amiable after the casting, but Hermione didn't think Flitwick took her monotone's word for it. This earned Jezibell an earful that night as they scoured the back of their textbooks for the obscure draught nobody studied that Snape was sure to assign.

Day two was taken in stride. Fresh air charms at regular intervals were enough to complete the Confusing Concoction for Potions and in Care of Magical Creatures the only real work Jezibell had was persuading Emmy not to eat the flobberworms. That night Astronomy was even more sadistic than Snape's assignment as the students had to complete their star charts in the middle of the night. Not that anybody was sleeping much anyway, but it cut out a lot of valuable cramming time. This did not help the worst of exams on day three, people already half asleep dropping like flies through History of Magic and then having to keep their wits about them when combating the tentacula in Herbology. Arithmancy came for Jezibell and Hermione, directing them back to the stuffy classrooms once more in the schizophrenic day.

Defense of Dark Arts came as the penultimate on Thursday and was more memorable than the others. Having learned the merits of a good night's sleep, Jezibell completed Lupin's course of handpicked nastiness smoothly; swelling grindylow fingers and boot to the Red Cap. The hinkypunk was just annoying. Lastly was the Boggart, as promised, that the students faced by climbing into an old trunk, an uncomfortable procedure on its own.

"Best for last?" Jezibell commented to Lupin as he gestured for her turn. Indeed most of the other students were dismissed, save for Harry, Ron and Hermione who were waiting for her.

"Only if you try for it," he replied and she entered the trunk. When fighting a boggart, it was advised to envision an inner demon beforehand and how to refit it. Jezibell planned to sidestep all imagination by keeping her thoughts devoid of emotion and worry, giving the boggart nothing to work with. With any luck - no, not luck, _control – _she could confuse it so much it would do a half slug routine and be easily vanquished.

So when she lit her wand and found Emmy staring serenely back at her through the gray, she thought her trick worked. No boggart in its right mind would show her Emmy. Emmy was as far from a fear, worse or otherwise, as it could get. Emmy was Jezibell's last stronghold, the one anything she could still count on. If Harry, Ron and Hermione turned their backs to her that day, said they hated her and wanted nothing more to do with her, Jezibell could take it and shrug. Because of Emmy, who knew everything, accepted everything, saw it all from the Diary to Durmstrang and beyond.

Boggart-Emmy's hackles rose, lip curling to expose incisors, and snarled. Against her will, Jezibell flinched, "_You _are_ good."_

She hadn't meant to speak in parseltongue, and Boggart-Emmy replied in the same, "_Too good for you."_ The claws snnked out as the doppelgänger moved predatorily forward.

"Riddikulus," Jezibell muttered, keeping the gesture minimal to hide her shaking. The spell hit the Boggart directly but the body didn't change. The head on the other hand twisted into that of a gawky eleven-year old girl. The mouth wrenched open and screamed with shrill agony as even a banshee couldn't replicate. Jezibell pressed her palms to her ears, jamming forefingers into the drum, but still the same scream found her, kneaded her. Its scream, her scream; we all scream from eye scream.

When the pressure and warbling made her head feel like caving, a bit of sense caught up to Jezibell. It was going to beat her without landing a blow. How pathetic was she?

" -!"

"_SHUT UP_!"

"_Shut up yourself,"_ The grotesque head warped back into Emmy's. Jezibell made herself watch the thing as she gathered emotionless plan was botched, so back to Lupin's advice. Kill it with laughter. Easy enough since she was in such a good humor already. Jezibell felt a bit more empathetic to Hermione's Cheering Charm woes. Boggart-Emmy jeered. "_Jezzie, Jezzie. You and your temper tantrums. Did I ever tell you I wanted to listen to all your stupid problems? You boring, meaningless, spineless human."_

"_Henh," _Jezibell's forced laugh came out like a nervous cough. Not very intimidating.

"_Don't humor me,"_ Boggart-Emmy coiled down on its haunches, tail rattling a warning. Humor, that's what she needed. But what did she ever laugh at?

"_SSSSchyaaaaooow!"_

"Riddikulus_!"_

Jezibell fell back, catching herself roughly on the elbows as the boggart sprung onto her chest. But no longer a deadly freak of magic, it curled and squirmed in a silly cuddly way around the manifested capsule of catnip.

She laughed naturally. Cackled to victory and stupefying relief, her elbows scrapping back to keep her wracking torso steady. Eyes streaming dizzily and throat sore with each gasp, it was a lot like screaming. Happy screaming. The thought made her guffaw all the more.

"Jezibell! Jez, are you all right down there?" Jezibell looked above her to see the silhouette of a concerned Harry peering into the trunk. The laughter choked off instantly. She must sound deranged. Harry's head listed for a confused moment. When he spoke the grin was audible, "I guess Lupin's going to need a new Boggart."

The shapeshifter had vanished, leaving a vague smoke hovering over her that quickly dispersed. She pushed herself up and clambered out of the trunk. The spring air and sunlight cleansed. Lupin watched her emergence carefully, likely to make out if she found her fear or not. Jezibell wasn't about to make it easy for him, keeping her expression indifferent. The professor bid her, Harry, Ron and Hermione well on their last round of exams and turned to inspect the now empty trunk.

As the four strode back to castle, anticipation propelling them forth to the finish line, Hermione gave Jezibell her assessment, "You took the most time of any one, and I suppose he'll dock points for that. Though how much damage you did to the Boggart will probably be a factor when he checks it."

"No worries then," Harry spoke up. He aced the course, particularly the Boggart. Jezibell would have like to know how he made a Dementor comical, but asking would invite questions about the form it took for her. "She killed it. There's nothing left to check."

"She probably just jack-o-lantern grinned at it," Ron chuckled. "No offense Jez, but you could reap souls with that smile."

"Maybe I do," Jezibell let out just a little one.

"Oh, it was probably weakened considerably from the rest of us," Hermione said airily.

"_Us?" _Ron laughed harder, "I don't think screaming 'I failed everything' at Boggart-McGonagall caused her too much grief."

"ANYWAY, what was _your_ boggart, Jez?" Harry interrupted, determined to swerve the topic onto less dangerous tracks. Sadly for him, Jezibell didn't like the current direction.

"My father," she delivered bluntly, effectively ending the conversation.

The moment of awkwardness was brief however, as they crossed paths with the Minister Fudge and his band of CDDC representatives. He revealed to Harry his mission, to steal from the Gamekeeper and give to the Hogwarts security system. Once out of earshot, Ron made the profound observation that one of the merry men was ready with ax, presumably to be applied to Buckbeak's neck.

"This isn't justice!" he said vehemently, lunch in the Great Hall providing a chatty and irritatingly casual ambiance.

"Ron, your dad works for the Ministry. You can't go saying things like that to his boss. As long as Hagrid keeps his head this time and argues his case properly, they can't possible execute Buckbeak."

Oh, but they could. Ron glanced at Jezibell a moment and let the subject drop. Least someone was wising up. Hermione was kidding herself with the adult world, convinced she was still in Sherwood where the people who said they were there to help you actually did. Ron got it backwards; justice isn't this.

Half an hour of Jezibell brooding into a black hole of contempt later, the bell rang to cue the last exam. The boys broke off for Professor T's tippy trippy tea party and Jezibell and Hermione made for Muggle Studies. Jezibell supposed she passed the exam, jumping through the School board approved hoops, but Burbage would probably pick up on her raw coffee beans mood while grading the essay comparing and contrasting how both muggles and wizards waste time. When all the papers had been collected, there were about fifteen minutes before the bell and Burbage used it to give a wrap up speech.

"Congratulations to all of you, you made it through the exam – wait one more, Ernie? Thank you. Now whether or not you get a perfect score or put your best foot consistently forward, you should all be very proud of yourselves. I know every one of you worked hard this year and deserves the Hogsmeade Trip this weekend. That's right," she paused for cheering at the news.

"The staff talked it over and I believe it was Professor Snape's suggestion to, in his words, 'Give the urchins a way to occupy themselves that will satisfy their whining until the express returns'. It's all but decided, though the posters won't go up until tonight so don't tell on me," she gave a conspiratorial grin. "Anyway, as far as you came this year, you are not done. Some of you may recall from the beginning of Muggle Studies when you listed what you knew about muggles. Perhaps you also have an inkling of my mentioning we would be trying it again at the end of the year to see how much you learned. Well, here we are, end of the year, and guess what I have for you!"

She flourished the plastic onto the overhead projector, dropped the screen and flicked the switch. With the familiar hum of machinery sprang their words from September onto the board. Jezibell looked at her melodramatic contribution with faint discontent and heard the rueful groans of embarrassment behind her, namely from Terry and Anthony Ravenclaw. Burbage held aloft the _Supersketch _to Hannah Hufflepuff with the airof a comedian who knows she's being over the top and the audience loves it, "Do your worst."

Hannah and her peers came to the board one by one, jotting down whatever bit of information they'd retained from the year. Most had to do with their topic from the recent project, others simply endorsed muggles and their ingenuity. Hermione stole the show by writing the most obscurely long factoid in the book about the only muggle ever to steal a playing piece from a Gobstones Tournament and the subsequent chaos resulting in banning the game from eight countries and how it contributed to the Yugoslav conflict. It was likely the only thing she learned from the class. Jezibell kept hers harmlessly brief with '_**Not so different'**_, but when Theodore came directly after her to write his contractually obligated crude one, there seemed an agreement between. _**Not so different ministers of trollcrap. **_Unlike the first time, Burbage did not request to see Theodore after class. Perhaps she would have more fun lecturing the overhead projector or didn't want to face the one student who surely failed her test, in doing so trick herself into believing she could keep him on for another year and reform him into seeing his life-long enemies her way. Jezibell smirked at the inference. Little did Burbage know the whole of Theodore's drama had nothing to do with her and her muggles. Not really.

Hermione and Jezibell returned to Gryffindor common room when class ended and found a solitary Ron sprawled on the couch.

"Trelawney sees us one at a time and it takes a while to come up with something convincing. Harry's is probably going to take more than rest, Trelawney loves using him for an Object," He informed them as Emmy sauntered up to Jezibell for an ear rub. "How'd yours go?"

"Fair, though my thesis on muggle transportation vs. wizarding could have been smoother," Hermione spoke with unusual brevity. There was an assent of melancholy around them in the absence of the study rush. Though having completed every trial, they felt more beaten than victors.

Ron blew a ginger lock out of his face, "You know it might not be over. Dumbledore has to be helping, Hagrid could still – "

His optimism was interrupted by Creevy bearing a small note.

"Where's Harry?" He squeaked without preamble.

"On an intergalactic mission," Jezibell said and the second year turned beet red. 'Be nice,' Hermione mouthed to her.

"Why, you have something for him?" Ron eyed the note.

Creevy nodded, "Hagrid told me to give it to him but I guess I can show you since you guys are like his team."

He passed the note of truth to Ron, who made to open it but stopped as Creevy was still standing there with an expression between catatonia and excitement, "Uh, you can go now. This is kind of private."

"Right!" He scurried off.

"Nutter," Ron muttered, unfolding the parchment. It would say just one of two things and Jezibell knew full well which could only be. But Ron still winced as he got the measure and Hermione gasped in reaction.

"Oh no! Is he –"

"Yeah," Ron began to read aloud, "'Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don't come down. I don't want you to see it. Hagrid.'"

"No, Hagrid! That's ridiculous, we can't have him face this alone," Hermione's voice shook and she blinked furiously, "What does he take us for?"

"Friends with curfew," offered Jezibell. Neither of them looked at her and she supposed her humor, however restrained, was inappropriate.

"Jez, it's not your fault," Ron said quietly, shocking her. When did she ever suggest it was? That she took responsibility for the project, implied. That all efforts were futile, tried. That she didn't really care and was just trying to get back in Harry's good books, lied. Most spontaneous people, finding pearls in pressured coal. Goodness where it shouldn't exist.

* * *

_Wormtail_

Dark, silent and hollow. Three words for life at the bottom of a milk jug. Dark, it'd been three months and almost a week since sunlight touched his fur. Not much use in keeping track at this point, but paying attention made him feel like he was still working toward something, like he still had a purpose. Silent, when was the last time he'd had a conversation? Sometimes he thought out scenes in his head with the friends. Talking, joking, pushing each other around but coming back to the same happy spot. It changed who he was with, James, Sirius and Lupin or Harry, Ron and Hermione. Either way, he knew too well it didn't count. But even in his naval gazing numb Wormtail felt the hollow, the lack. The fact that he was living on stale bread from Hagrid's cupboards that he stole when his oblivious landowner was asleep didn't help.

He could hear them coming up the path before they reached the house. It was late and they weren't talking, so he guessed they were under James's cloak. He wished Dumbledore hadn't taken it when the Potters went undercover. Could've made his life a lot easier. There was a knock. Clunk-clunk went Hagrid to door, opens and pauses.

"It's us; we're wearing the invisibility cloak. Let us in and we can take it off," whispered Harry.

So Hagrid let them in, telling them they shouldn't come as he did. It was all three of them, and Jez. Hagrid offered tea and told about when he tied up the Buckbeak in the pumpkin patch earlier that day. A heavy something smashed, cutting off the bird's epitaph mid composition and Hermione came to get a new one from his cupboard. Her hands browsed the various ceramics and cutlery kept here. Wormtail winced when a large one knocked against his jug. She made a loud swallowed sob when Hagrid said how he lost the appeal before. Wormtail smelled salt.

An abrupt shift in his burning stomach came as light lanced through him. If he wasn't starving, chuck would have been upped. Hermione, she picked him! It, the jug! A bit of plain bile he hadn't believed still existed scorched up his throat as he was set atop the cupboard. Harsh clinking tea cups and saucers beat around his head as he curled tighter in his skin, willing himself shrink into nothing. Perhaps if held his breath he could sink into the milk when it was poured, poking his nose above the surface every so often to see if they were gone. This might even be his lucky break, cool creamy milk bringing back lost body weight.

"EEEEP! Ron, I don't believe it, it's Scabbers!"

Ok, so much for the early meal. He was deaf for a moment after the girl's scream. Hermione had a very distinctive high pitch that sliced his eardrum. Then the world upended itself, unceremoniously rejecting him onto unforgiving wood. Large bright faces of looming light specters looked forbiddingly down. Before he could skid off the table, Ron's hands clamped around his torso.

"Scabbers, what are you doing here? It's okay, Scabbers. No cats! Nothing's here to hurt you."

No, everything is. Wormtail clawed and grappled against the boy's grip. The ministry wizards were coming, Ron was going to take him back to the castle. Once the cat found out he was alive, nowhere would ever be safe. He had to run, runaway to a hideaway. An escaped rat is no means to raise fuss. Ron was always going on about how lazy and useless he was. In this state they'd just assume he went someplace to die.

But before any getaway was possible, Wormtail was plopped into the warm familiar pocket. If he wasn't so desperate to flee, he would have taken a moment to think on how he missed the spot. The soft cloth was just translucent enough to keep him in light, but not blindingly so. Ron's heartbeat thumped calmly in his ear, accelerating slightly as they moved up the steep, loping hill. Wormtail rode on the loose swings hoping for an opening to jump out, but they were never quite high enough. He changed tactic, scratching and wriggling his body to halt his carriage. It worked, but the hands reappeared to corral the edge, sweaty palms blocking his refuge.

"Please, Ron," came Hermione's despondent voice.

"– Scabbers, he won't stay put!"

_Scabbers_ wasn't going to live much longer the way things were going. He found himself swearing in squeaks as he tried to take nip at Ron's fingers. Wormtail had never bitten Ron or any other useful person. He didn't like the taste of blood much. There had been an incident in first year where he sunk his incisors into the knuckle of Goyle's spawn which was a point of quiet personal pride, but such pleasantries were put aside as Wormtail's life was at stake. Ron didn't get the memo.

"Scabbers," He pressed his fingers on the back of Wormtail's head, forcing him to look at his owner's face while addressed, "it's me, you idiot, it's Ron!"

Well who hell did he think Wormtail thought his three years long life insurance _would_ be? Merlin, he needed to get out of here. With a few more patronizing comments, Ron shoved Wormtail roughly into the robe and walked with the others a bit further. Wormtail realized they were trying to get away from Hagrid's hut and the ministry wizards. They didn't want to attract attention. He began cussing in squeals like a halved piglet in hope Ron would take him out of the pocket, try to calm his newly reunited pet. Then Wormtail would be gone, quicker than thought.

SWii_thud_! The swipe of what was surely an ax felling a hippogriff came from behind and Ron's heart hiccupped. Wormtail froze on instinct.

"They did it!" Hermione spoke softly, "I don't believe they did it!"

"Don't," Jez muttered, under her breath so low it was likely none of the others heard through their grief. Wormtail did. Don't _what?_ Don't believe Buckbeak was really killed? That didn't tally with her otherwise unflinching acceptance of fact. Don't descend into hysterics over it, spouting clichéd lines of denial? Made sense, but why didn't she let Hermione hear it then? Or maybe it was a personal plea against what was irreversible. Don't be this way. Wormtail made himself labor on her unimportant comment so he wouldn't have to think of the death, have to recognize...

Stop. His muscles did, save the tiny rat heart pattering a thousand times faster than Ron's ever could. Fear jolted through his spine, ears harkened to slight brush of grass in front and his nose quivered madly. _Cat. _

Suddenly Wormtail was little more than a sack of meat hanging in the butcher's window of Ron's pocket. . The fingers were back, grabbing, restraining, stuffing, and bleeding.

"OUCH HE BIT ME!"

Did he? Wormtail couldn't care at this point. He was out now, but still trapped as ever. The sunset finished, but he could see plainly enough the twin gold heralds of his approaching nemesis not five meters away. Where was Jezibell's abomination when he needed it?

"NO!" Ron cried as with a bodily jerk, Wormtail flung himself to the grass. His fur flattened, legs churning through the warm dirt. James's cloak brushed across his back as he ran from the ensuing commotion behind him. Every pore of his being screamed away from his pursuers and only when a fourth party of heavy breathing started did he realized he'd been wrong about his role. He was being herded, not chased. His heart paused for half a beat and, "GOTCHA!"

Ron fell on him, or so it felt, and Wormtail was forced once again back in the pocket. Now he welcomed it. Surely Sirius wouldn't try now, not with Harry's best mate.

Oh, but he would. Hearing Padfoot bound forth on the paws for which he was named, Wormtail balled himself up, petrified as one of the Basilisk's victims, waiting for the end.

The end took its time. Ron's heart rate was up, but he wasn't running and Padfoot had to be on top of them by now. What was going on out there? A pair of muffled screams, Ron's sweaty hand tightly clamped on the pocket was all he knew. Then the kid's body gave a whip-like crack. Best not think too hard on the last. Peter wanted to bite Ron again so he could run from the madness, but the proximity of the larger animals made his muscles static with fear.

There came an upward bump. One, two, three, four, five. Ron's breath caught at each. He must be getting attacked by Padfoot. Wormtail made a note not to underestimate how far the dog was willing to go for revenge. A low growl accompanied by a purring noise came from unnervingly close by. Then a change of perception, a twist of breathing and heartbeat Wormtail knew as well as his own.

"_You're _it? The Grim, you! _Scampered - A_ah_,_" Ron's big revelation was dampened slightly by his injuries. Why did Sirius decide to show himself _now?_ They were still out in the open; anybody could be walking by to notice. Oh. Five bumps, five steps. They had been right along were the willow was when the cat attacked. Wormtail gathered himself enough to worm his nose between Ron's fingers and breathe the open the stale musty air. Yep, they were in the shack alright. Home-stank-home as James called it. Of _course _Sirius chose lodgings here. Nobody else would think to look, except Remus who was too busy covering up from Dumbledore. Nobody knew, nobody was coming, nobody to save him. He could smell the cat directly behind and Sirius planted in front. Wormtail had never felt so alive and dead at the same time.

"Don't move any more then you have to," Sirius's easy gravel was mangled from Azkaban and time, "Give me the rat, and all's well ends well."

"I'm not doing a bloody thing you say," Ron's words came through clenched teeth and he cupped his hands over Wormtail shakily. Go, Ron go! Be a Gryffindor! Defend your pet with your life! "You got me here for bait, don't you?"

A whacking sound like somebody kicking a door open (yes, Wormtail knew exactly what that sounded like) as an answer. The rat needed a better measure of the scene and poked his head around the boy's hand. It didn't much improve. Harry and Hermione were blocking the view, making comforting and inquisitive noises until Ron pointed out the mass murderer right behind them. Did these kids have no peripheral vision?

Sirius promptly shut the door like any good villain and expelled the cavalry's wands using Ron's. Now that Wormtail could see him, he'd really let himself go. Sirius had always been the most handsome of them, Wormtail remembered being jealous and admiring of the female gaze his brooding grey eyes and high cheek bones attracted. Now the olive skin had taken on a pale greenish-yellow, the once fashionably careless hair matted and overgrown and the eyes so hauntingly sunken you couldn't tell their color. It was like looking at a corpse, a zombie back from the grave.

"I thought you'd come to help your friend, your father would have done the same for me," Sirius began with a standard jibe at Harry's gullibility. Even through his peril, Wormtail was struck by how Sirius presented himself to his godson. The man wasn't even bothering to plea innocence. Jez muttered an indistinguishable comment of derision to herself. She did that a lot. "Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. It will make everything much easier –"

"You'd be surprised how difficult we can make things," Jezibell butted into the monologue. Her arm crossed Wormtail's vision, holding a wand. Wait a moment. Sirius looked to the girl in understandable confusion. He examined his handful of captured instruments, one of which was much knobbier and misshapen than the others.

"The ole slight 'o' stick," He gave a dry echo of the barking laugh and prepared to disarm her, again. "Nice. But I've waited too long for this."

Debris crumbled down on his head directing attention above it to where a fat loose brick from the wall behind hung on a levitation charm. Slight 'o' _brick_, then. It was a standard you-hit-me-you-get-knocked-out set up. Sirius sighed and simply pointed the mesh of wands and the stick at Wormtail. Stalemate.

"_No_, don't even _look_ at him!" Harry yelled, moving between Ron and Sirius.

"Harry!" yelped Hermione, grabbing his arm before he did something conceivably stupider. Like attacking. Not that Sirius was trying to kill him. Was he? Wormtail honestly didn't know anymore. Not that it mattered much in regard to him.

"Jez, what are you waiting for?" Harry demanded, "Kill him or give me your wand!"

"I move it and I can't question Mr. Padfoot."

There was a moment of silence as everybody took that in. Mr. Padfoot? Wormtail knew he had been out of the loop, but since when did _she _know squat about the secret of secrets?

"Isn't that one of the -" Hermione started uncertainly.

"How much did Remus tell you?" Sirius interrupted his face impassive as melted wax.

"Mr. _Moony_ told us all about the map and how much fun you, him and James Potter had with it," Jezibell's shoulder rolled and the brick dropped a centimeter, "We know what Mr. Moony really does when he's out sick."

"Tell me all about that later," Sirius jerked his skeletal hand, making all flinch. He smiled horridly straight at Wormtail, "First things first."

"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!" Wormtail's eye level rose as Ron made to stand, but he ended up using Harry as a crutch.

"Lie down, you will damage that leg even more," Sirius randomly switched tact.

"Did you hear me? You'll have to get through all four of us!" Wormtail's ear rang uncomfortably with Ron's courage. Big assumption there, mate. Wormtail wasn't planning on dying for anybody.

"There'll only be one murder here tonight," Sirius was deliberate in his ambiguity. Didn't he _want_ them to know? Or did he think Harry wouldn't believe him if he told? Harry wasn't in a believing mood, granted.

"Why's that?" Harry taunted the alleged mass murderer. "Didn't care last time, did you? Didn't mind slaughtering muggles to get to Pettigrew. What's the matter? Gone soft in Azkaban?"

"Harry, quiet," mumbled Hermione without real conviction.

"Answer him," Jez ordered Sirius like she still had the upper hand, "Why?"

"I don't care _why -"_ Harry groaned, "HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD! Dammit, Jez, _give me your wand_!"

"No –!"

Harry grabbed her arm, wrenched away the wand and lunged at Sirius. The brick smashed through a window, making Wormtail duck back into the pocket. Downstairs, somebody shouted. Upstairs, nobody breathed. Then Hermione started screaming, "WE'RE UP HERE WE'RE UP HERE SIRIUS BLACK _QUICK!_"

Shoes clomped up rickety stairs, door banged open and Wormtail listened for his hope spot.

"Expelliarmus!" cried the savior, and then, "Where is he?" asked Remus.

Remus. Asking where _he_ was. Hope spot flew out the window with the brick, shattering upon impact. Smashed, gone, kaput, and dead. Why weren't the kids doing anything? Hurry up and kill him, Harry! Don't you have an insatiable desire for revenge? Ron's hand tightened around his body, smothering cloth around his ears in a dark net of silence.

Over the next nerve grating Merlin-knows-how-long Wormtail sat in this terrified lump, near oblivious to the events outside. Ron's heart jumped in his ear and assorted smells mixed with the musty shack gave his feverish nose something to do, but beyond that Wormtail was forced to guess. He supposed his death was so labored over because Sirius and Lupin were explaining it all to the kids. He wondered how much all of it was, but it didn't really matter at this point. All he cared about was how Harry was going to take it. Maybe he wouldn't believe a word. If he found out Remus was a werewolf and Sirius had no proof to support the crazy claim of a dead man surviving as his best mate's rat, he might go ahead and kill them both. Wormtail just hoped Sirius hadn't kept the paper.

He knew full well how his school friend had found him. It must have been the Prophet. Sirius could've gotten it from any human visitor to Azkaban. Wormtail remembered the photo that took up half the front page. Ron had an argument with the Percy over letting his rat in the shot and Wormtail had to be woken up from a sun nap to be dangled onto Ron's shoulder. _Say cheese, Scabbers. See Percy, the camera likes him! _He'd been rewarded for it, got a bit of exotic fruit that was quite delicious at the time. Not worth getting his soul sucked out, but very refreshing on a hot Egyptian day. Wormtail was cut off in his reminiscing by Ron's hand, which had been a buffer between him and the world up till now, cupped around him and pulled the rat kicking and squeaking into the light.

Light was hell. His bones stretched, muscles tensed and pulled like putty and hair seared his scalp in a thousand crimping needles. It wasn't usually so horrid, when he transformed voluntarily there nothing more than a tingle, but being forced into it was something else. He landed on his feet in the robes, twelve year old robes, somehow still keeping balance as the wretched cramps dulled. After it was done, he still felt like a rat, or at least still found the feline tyrant perched on the bed a legitimate threat. He rubbed his wrists; the extremities still ached and took in the scene he was now the center piece of. Sirius and Remus had their wands pointed at him, looking quite ready to give the death blow at any provocation. No provocations then. Harry, Ron and Hermione were staring dumbstruck by his appearance to the left. Severus Snape was bound and knocked out against a wall for some reason. Curious, but unhelpful. Jez was blocking the door, and thereby the stairs and the exit which was completely out of reach. He'd known that depressing fact already, but still, _damn her._

Remus was the first to address, "Hello, Peter. Long time no see."

Ahahaha, Peter was so dead. Sirius leered from his corner, confirming the sentiment.

"S-Sirius, R-Remus," He stuttered a bit on their names, surprised and reviled by his voice. It was weak, blubbery and cracked at every other syllable. Again he looked to the door in the vain hope it had moved closer in the last two seconds. "My friends, my old friends."

"We've been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You may have missed the finer points while squeaking around down there on the bed."

The cat had clawed its way out of the bag. There was nothing Peter could do but deny.

"Remus, you don't _believe_ him, do you?" Peter knew full well there was no swaying Remus, but it wasn't really him he was banking on. "He tried to _kill_ me, Remus.

"So we've heard. I'd like to clear up one of two matters with you, Peter, if you would be so –"

"He's come to try and _kill _me again! _He killed Lily and James_ and now he's going to kill me too – you got to _help me_, Remus!

Pity, he needed pity. Somebody, anybody feel sorry and generous NOW.

"No one's going to try and kill you until we've sorted a few things out."

"Sorted things out," He repeated ruefully. Fate had been sorted decades ago. A second take at the room told him windows were boarded as they always had been, Remus must have repaired the one the brick smashed, and the door still miles away. Back to pleading, but everything he said could and was used against him.

He'd known Sirius would come after him for twelve years! Now why would he think a person could break out of Azkaban? He never touched Harry during his time sleeping two meters away from the kid! He is a coward who only acts when it's in his interest. How could Sirius possibly have escaped Azkaban without express knowledge of Dark Magic? He's an Animagus who knew he wasn't guilty. Peter's lies were Swiss cheese. He used to be so much better at this and supposed his loss of the skill came from not talking. It was time to utilize his final defense, the one thing Peter Pettigrew did well. Beg.

"Sirius, it's me. It's Peter, your friend, you wouldn't –"

"Remus! You don't believe this – wouldn't Sirius have told you if he changed the plan?"

"Ron, haven't I been a good friend? A good pet, you wouldn't let them kill me, Ron, will you? You're on my side, aren't you?"

"Sweet girl, clever girl, you won't let them –"

"Harry, you look just like you're father. Just like him –"

No sell, not one not even his trump card, James' son. If he could have only convinced Harry, just Harry and Harry alone, Sirius and Remus would do anything for the boy. There was still one left, but she wasn't worth it. Not after the hole in the ace, there wasn't a point. But Peter was the expert on crusading without a god and so turned, Sirius and Remus still casting on him meaningless words of perfidy, to face Jez. But he couldn't bring himself to plead with her. Not because of her disdainful memory tugging expression, but how perverse their positions were.

The first two years of Hogwarts with Ron were the best Peter ever had. He felt like he was adventuring with the Marauders again, falling back to his old position as the fourth fat stupid member who was kept because he rounded out the group. It wasn't exactly the same with him being a rat, but it was close enough so Peter could pretend, just for bit, it was real. Then _she_ came, a cruel parody of his time with James and the others. Watching her lie so blatantly as they more and more leaned on her friendship, yet she disappointed every time. The outcast who nobody liked, isn't that sign you should stay away? That this 'friend' is going to pull out a knife the moment you present your back? They were in the same boat, the HMS _Parasite, _yet _she_ had the gall to look down on him like His Right Hand always did like she was somehow his better. Peter wasn't going to snivel for this witch the last two seconds of his life, so instead he spoke his mind.

"You can't judge me, someday you'll be here. Then you won't be so smug."

Jez blinked in dull surprise, Sirius and Remus raised their wands and Peter Pettigrew prepared to die as an honest man.

"NO!" Harry lunged suddenly between death and Peter, "You can't kill him! You can't!"

The audience was dumbstruck, but nobody more so than Peter. It worked. Faking out the universe genuinely no tricks, no second guessing really worked! It was incredible, inspiring and completely terrifying. And false. Harry clarified his motives as indifferent to Peter's life. He wasn't saving Peter out of pity or because he thought Peter might be worth after all. No, he was really rescuing Sirius and Remus from the irredeemable fate of being murderers. Oh well, the action counts and Peter lay down at Harry's knees for it. He was going to Azkaban! YES. If Sirius escaped by being an animagus, then so could he. Didn't think of that, did they?

They thought of everything else for the procession to castle. Peter in a binding spell and tied jointly between Remus and Jez so as not to escape went first down the stairs and to the tunnel, preceding the still inexplicably unconscious Severus levitated by Sirius, followed by Harry and Hermione supporting a crippled Ron. The stupid cat led the parade like _he _was the Grand Master.

As they neared the end of the tunnel, Peter started to worry again. What if they changed their minds? What if instead of taking him to the castle, the Dementors came and Kissed him right there? What if Sirius lost it and killed him anyway? What if they put him in a special cell at Azkaban, where there were no bars to slip through and actual prison guards? He looked at the faces beside him to see if he could read answers there. In Remus' face resolution, in Jez's disregard of him entirely. _Don't think you have any power just because the Dark Lord finds you temporarily useful, Wormtail, _her jutted chin said. _You are not of his inner circle and are completely disposable. _But the proud Death Eater's words held no water in present day. There was no charmed circle anymore. Even a gutter rat as an ally would be indispensable to the Dark Lord of the flies. What if Peter escaped _now_?

They neared the end of the tunnel and the cat had frozen the willow overhead with the special knot. The night was warm with summer and very black except for the yellowy wand-light streaming out of the tunnel. There was no lunar activity that Peter could see. Maybe it was a new moon. No wait, the clouds parted as the party made the first few steps onto the grass to reveal the vague silvery light of a moon round as a coin. It took Peter a second to register what that meant.

"Lupin! _Fxysmirkss._ Turn around, _get back in the tunnel_," Jezibell yanked Peter's left to the side, calling to those behind them.

"He didn't take his potion tonight, he's not safe!" Hermione cried.

A low wine shook Peter's right and Remus broke the cuff as he transformed beside him. The werewolf beside him… Then he wasn't. Padfoot leapt, tackling the werewolf before he could bite Peter or Jez. Peter grabbed fallen wand, shot a stunner and confounder at the first things to cross his vision. Ron and then the cat went down. Jez twisted it from his wrist. Moony had thrown Padfoot off and ran for the forest, Padfoot pounding wounded to castle to alert Dumbledore there was a werewolf on the grounds. Harry took off after his godfather, Hermione in his wake. For a second nobody was paying the mass murderer any mind. The second Peter needed. He dove, dragging the girl down with him, at the willow and grappled his hands over the knot.

Nothing changed. Then –

"Get up, Wormfood," Jez hissed in his ear and there was jabbing in the back of his neck, "You know what tha -"

CRACK!

The second cuff ripped viciously off his hand and the girl went flying as a tree branch whipped overhead. Peter transformed in an instant, prepared to dash from Hogwarts grounds with nothing and nobody to stop him.

"_Ga-hak_," A few meters away Jez was pushing herself up by an arm, the other clutching her torso and reeking of fresh blood. "You ra –ah, not again…"

Wormtail wasn't going to wait for her to complete that thought. In his shrunken furry alter ego he fled into the unknown. He didn't know where he was going just yet, or whether or not he felt the worse for leaving a life that might have turned out alright. Oh, why did Sirius have to come? But looking back to his past was painful, useless and counterproductive, so Peter never did. Her glare raised hair on his back all the way to the gates.

* * *

_Hospital Wing, June ninth_

Again with the screaming.

"HE DIDN'T DISAPPERATE! YOU CAN'T APPARATE OR DISAPPERATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS! HAS! SOMETHING! TO! DO! WITH! POTTER!"

Surprise, surprise. A BAM of someone needlessly abusing a door rattled in her skull like a trapped bludger. Worst wakeup call ever.

"OUT WITH IT POTTER – WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"PROFESSOR SNAPE!" A woman shrieked, "Control yourself!"

Snape. Snape was knocked out. By her, because of Sirius. Sirius – Shrieking shack – Harry – werewolf. Right.

"THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE I KNOW IT!"

Escape, Wormtail escaped. But Snape missed that, being knocked out. So if not Wormtail, then –

"YOU DON'T KNOW POTTER, HE DID IT I KNOW HE DID IT!"

Jezibell was assured that if anything displeasing Snape had been done, Harry was prime suspect. Dumbledore didn't think so, he was speaking now. He left the ward ten minutes ago, locking the door. Unless Snape was suggesting Harry and Hermione could be in two places at once. Hermione? Well, that filled all the plot holes neatly. Dumbledore left with another geriatric muttering about an escaped hippogriff and the Dementors trying to Kiss an innocent boy. Wonder who that could be. She opened her eyes to the off-white ceiling of the Hospital Wing and tried to prop herself up. Breath caught at the brace of bandages wound tightly around her rib cage and her right arm restricted by the sling wasn't really up to propping, so she wuffed back onto the matress.

"What happened?" moaned Ron a few beds to her right. "Harry? Why are we in here? Where's Sirius? Where's Lupin? What's happened to Jez? What's going on?"

Harry voice responded a bit further down, "You explain."

"Um," said Hermione from the same, "I'm not sure where to –"

"Start," Jezibell addressed the ceiling, "with 'innocent boy', my arse."

Hermione told it the best she could with Ron punctuating every half sentence with "But what about…" To summarize: Snape woke up; Sirius got caught and handed to the Dementors. After recovering from a Dementor attack, Harry and Hermione went back in time and fixed everything. Well, except Wormtail, Jezibell still let him escape in the altered past. Sirius was on the run too, but at least now he had the utterly inconspicuous Buckbeak to bus him around. Also Lupin was good as sacked, seeing as the werewolf was out of the study. Then there's the minor issue of the grandfather paradox Harry induced by saving himself from being Kissed. Because if Harry hadn't gone back in time yet at the time he was about to be Kissed, then how could he still be soul-filled in the future to go back and –

"_Don't_ think about it," he advised through a mouthful of chocolate, "I'm trying not to myself."

They stayed what was left of the night till noon the next day, Jezibell's ribs and funny bone and Ron's leg needing to heel entirely and of course Harry and Hermione had the special-edition anti-Dementor healer shoved down their throats. Only Madam Pomfrey could make Honeydukes sweets taste bitter as a Pepperup potion. Speaking of Hogsmeade, the four abstained from the trip as life risking doesn't put one in a shopping mood. Harry used the free day to say his goodbyes to Lupin while Ron, Hermione and Jezibell moseyed around the grounds, Hagrid's hut and relayed the night to Emmy. The hybrid seemed rather impressed by Crookshanks' part and preferred to hear the whole story from him personally. Hermione told her so. The remaining week passed in a pensive haze, for Jezibell, Harry, Ron and Hermione at least. The other students didn't know the full of the story since there was no point trying to advocate Sirius's case now that he fled the scene of the crime and with no proof other than the word of a werewolf. So for everyone else…

"Again he got in, _again_ –"

"I'm glad the Dementors left, it was so much better in Hogsmeade –"

"Not sure why we had 'em in the first place, they didn't help any –"

"Terrifying, they were, just terrifying –"

"Maybe they'll get dragons next –"

"Speaking of monsters, you know that hippogriff escaped –"

"Bet the gamekeeper turned it into a turtle-catching shrub –"

"Our ministry really can't do anything –"

"GRYFFINDOR WON THE CUP! GRYFFINDOR –"

Life was coming back down to normal, whatever that was at Hogwarts. The year had been long and convoluted enough to rival the last, yet like its predecessor everything settled itself within the last week of school. Well, almost everything…

There was still an obligation of sorts Jezibell meandered around. She consulted Emmy and reread the books Harry got her for Christmas, sharpened quills and got beat by Ron at chess. It still wasn't done. An endless round of declarations and excuses kept her thoughts on edge until the last day of term when the exam results came.

Jezibell moved away from the group to review hers, and soon found it was a good call. She passed, mostly. Transfiguration, fine; Charms, fine; Potions, very fine. Care of magical creatures, Astronomy, History, Muggle Studies, and DADA, all fine. Herbology, not so much. Not very much at all. She rolled the parchment back up serenely and went for a walk. She could use the stretch and there was still the train ride tomorrow. The last day had taken long enough and summer didn't come without anticipation for the familiar and natural. It really was useless to pretend she was ever at ease in Hogwarts. But reflecting on her year with the trio and recent events, Jezibell found there wasn't much to regret for. Except the one. Cutting through the courtyard, she wacked elbows with a guy also too deep in thought to pay attention to where he was going.

"Jezibell," he muttered irritably, his exam report wafting to the ground.

"Theodore," Jezibell stooped to retrieve the parchment. She wasn't looking, not explicitly anyways, but her eyes still found the Muggle Studies score at the bottom. It beat hers. He glared at her, knowing full well she'd seen.

"Can I have that back?"

"There's a vacancy in Divination," Jezibell ignored the question. "And after Buckbeak escaped and the Black Attack, the school board's not breathing down Burbage's neck."

"Yeah," He sighed, and then snatched the grades back, "_So?_"

"Yeah, so nothing." She smiled, just a bit.

He crumpled the parchment, "You're chipper."

Was she? Maybe, "Just knowing… even tornadoes can have silver linings."

"Never would have pegged you for an optimist," He snorted derisively.

"I keep 'em guessing," She smirked. "See you next year."

Next day brought the Hogwarts Express and a very smug Emmy, "_I told –_"

"_Quiet, you. It's not over until the blond harpy sings."_

Harry gave Jezibell a quizzical look to which Emmy made her faux-chuckling noise. But she knew not to push it and coiled herself on the seat beside Crookshanks in compartment 16. Jezibell made no comment. There were other things to address anyway, such as Hermione's decision to drop Muggle Studies, and by extent the Time Turner. She'd discussed (i.e. monologued) her reasons the night before with Jezibell and finalized it that morning with Professor McGonagall. They all agreed that it was for the best, but Ron still was indignant that Hermione hid it from him and Harry the whole year.

"If Jez could know, why not us?"

"I promised I wouldn't tell anyone._ Jez_ found out on her own," Hermione narrowed her eyes and Jezibell rolled them.

"You could've lied," she pointed out.

"You'd see it in a second and have found out the rest quick enough," Hermione accused. "You knew there was something up with Professor Lupin after all."

"Ha!" Ron laughed, "You don't know the half of that one! Miss Paranoia thought you were keeping your mouth shut about Lupin helping Sirius kill to Harry with the map. Brilliant, Jez, just _brilliant_. You confound us all with your powers of deduction."

"Lay off," Harry turned from his melancholy window gazing, "She got the Marauders and their names right. How _did_ you manage that anyway? When we found Sirius, you called him Padfoot and Professor Lupin Moony."

"Sirius's animagus was a dog with large padded feet. Indicative. Moony was a guess, both names only showed up this year but Padfoot was already taken." Jezibell flipped through the twelfth Time After Time novel, _One Week_, uncomfortably, "Besides, I still lost Wormtail."

"That wasn't your fault. I went _back in time_ and couldn't change it," Harry said sorely. The problem was he was telling the truth.

"How about next time we leave the figuring to Hermione, slight o' stick to Jez and the rescuing to Harry," Ron opened a package of sweets from the trolley.

"What do you do, then?"

"I play chess and point out the obvious."

"Oh, stop being detrimental," Hermione chided, "We've all made plans, found things out and saved each other's lives. Nobody needs a job."

"No, I get it," said Harry, "We're like a cinnamon bun, or one of these things."

"A Wangdoodle?" Ron asked as Harry held up the candy.

"Yeah, this. We're all good at different things and ok on our own, but together we can fight trolls, slay basilisks and change time."

"Does that make you the nuts?" Jezibell quipped.

"No more nuts than a talking cat," He scratched Emmy's ears in the preferred spot. Touché.

"I still think it's ridiculous," said Hermione.

"I still think it's delicious," said Ron, "Pass us over here."

Not long after, they were interrupted by a letter from Sirius via post owl. He assured them he was in hiding with Buckbeak and revealed that the Firebolt had indeed been sent by him, granting Hermione a second I-told-you-so for the week. The envelope also included a handy signed note for Harry's Hogsmeade activities, a hippogriff feather and the bird that carried it as a gift to Ron. All's well that ends well. Well, not quite yet.

Some hours later, the train pulled into Kings Cross, the bags and animals collected. The four were at the barrier, Hermione and Ron through and Harry halfway. On the other side was Mother, Draco and three months to forget.

"Hey, Harry," Jez pulled him back by the shoulder. "Can I talk to you, over there?"

"Sure," he steadied his trolley agreeably and she led him over a little to the side of where students were lining up to enter the muggle world. "Go ahead."

"I want to… I mean, I didn't mean - Ah, you remember the… argument at the start of winter break. I said what I thought I meant at the time. I – ah, underinterpreted – misunderestimated – no, I'm," losing command over the English language. Jezibell knew what she had to say, but wasn't leading up to it properly and when she started thinking about it failed basic articulation entirely. "Sorry -"

"Jez, apology accepted," Harry smiled easily and she felt ridiculous, making such a deal out of something that happened months ago. But then again this sort of thing was important, to some people. Padfoot and Moony thought so. Harry did too, hence the botched apology. She thought he needed it. Now she wasn't sure which one of them had. He was teasing her now, "but don'ttry to tell me about _levitating bricks_ again. Alright?"

She nodded just enough to communicate and they walked through the barrier together, most of the other students already through. Jezibell spotted her family quickly. Mother looked like a stewardess in a green silk muggle suit.

"See you September," Jezibell lingered a bit with Harry, remembering Draco's letter and decided to milk her mother's high society fears for all their lack of worth. Yes, look at her be good friends with Harry Potter._ Publicly_, good friends. What can she do?

"Maybe sooner, Ron said the Weasleys might be taking me to the Quidditch World Cup. Will you be going?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Jezibell sneered in hard sarcasm that was lost on Harry as he laughed and turned away to reunite with his muggle relatives. Even Burbage and all her mugglephilia would have nothing pleasant to say about them. They stood deliberately apart from everybody else, with mixtures of disgust and fright running wanton on their faces. When Harry came to them, the obese mustached male barked at him and they waddled with Harry in tow to a particularly large and smelly car. They appeared to be living embodiment of all the worst stereotypes associated with muggles; stupid, fat, middle class, ugly jerks.

"_Makes you almost ashamed, going back to the Manor," _Emmy observed from her perch in the trolley.

"_Almost,"_Jezibell emphasized with a grimace, wheeling around to her face her kin. The harpy sung.


	14. Circles

Circles

_Wiltshire Mansion, July twenty-second,_

The Malfoy siblings fidgeted in their dress robes as they waited for Mother to remember calling them for inspection. She sent them to their dressing rooms an hour ago to 'tidy up' and now seemed to have forgotten her previous summons in the face of more terrible troubles. The ham was burning. Jezibell could smell it from the parlor – the bitter stench of homemaking gone wrong. She'd grown quite accustomed to the fragrance of _Ode de Failing Housewife_ in the past two summers at Malfoy Manor. But this was a blacker predicament than usual for tonight they had company. Not the tea party hens, but Father's company. Business with fellow retired Death Eater, Mr. Franklin Nott, which ranked somewhere between foreign aristocrats and lower level ministry wizards in threat. Of course, nobody said that's what Mr. Nott was coming for. It was just a check up on old friends, nothing beyond a cordial sup followed by charades and champagne. Mr. Nott was even bringing Theodore along to keep up the needless pretense with the children. It wasn't as though the adults didn't think they would have put it together by now, but practicing silence in private decreased the chance of public slip-ups. After all practice makes perfect, most of the time.

A whooshing noise of flames being doused echoed from the kitchen.

"Hope Mr. Nott likes it well done," Draco adjusted his cufflinks as an air-freshening charm blasted through the house, leaving everything smelling of strawberry and perfectly roasted pig. Nice bluff.

"Then he'd want Indian Cuisine," Jezibell waved away the pink puff of spell residue with her sleeve. The dress robes Mother chose for her were pleated to the point of ridiculousness, the neck line swooping uncomfortably and the sleeves disproportionately long, but they did have their practicalities however few and far between. Mother bustled into the parlor, crossing smartly to straighten the drapes before turning to the secondary matter of her children.

"Chin _up_, Jezibell," A forcing hand cupped under it, "I don't know where you learned to slouch so."

She narrowed her eyes as though she had a number of ideas on it, but didn't speak them. Time was running short for nitpicking.

"Hair out of the eyes," She tutted, batting it aside to find them glaring at her, "You didn't touch the makeup I put out, did you? Well, I suppose I can hardly expect the sow's ear to cooperate. Fine, keep them in. Perhaps it will tone down that hideous expression enough for them to look sideways at you."

She threw up her hands and brought them down on Draco's head, smoothing the already slicked back hair, "My little doorman, can I trust you to pick up your sister's slack?"

"Of course, Mother," Draco smiled.

"Charming as always," She kissed his forehead, "But don't twist your cufflinks, they're tailor made."

The doorbell called out, "Visitors, ma'am, Franklin Nott and young Theodore. Theo's combing over his hair, but don't think it looked so smart when he arrived."

"That'll do," Mother commanded and the gossipy doorbell fell silent. The hostess glanced at the grandfather clock and wrinkled her nose in distaste, "They're early."

"They really should know better by know," commented Draco.

She gave him a warning look, "Go entertain them. Jezibell, I would appreciate your help in kitchen."

Appreciate her getting out of the way, more like. There wasn't much help to be done, or at least nothing Jezibell could accomplish without magic. Mother made her set the table manually anyhow, though the witch could have done just as well with a wave of her wand. Probably better. An ear was kept cocked to the door where the tones of Draco's greetings could be heard if not distinguished. They didn't really need to be. It was the same bland cut-and-paste socializing that Jezibell could never pull off, even in her pre-school years. Hence the kitchen duty now.

Once the salad fork, desert spoon, steak knife, and the butter knife were all in order she made to take her customary seat, two chairs to the left of the head, when she noticed the cards.

"Mother," She picked up the folded over paper entitled _Draco Malfoy_, "Aren't we a little old for assigned seating?"

"Aren't you a little young to be concerning yourself?" Mother snatched the card back and set it right, "I have this all measured perfectly, don't be difficult. Your seat is the top right."

"Right of the head? But that's –"

"_Don't _be difficult."

Jezibell gathered her overdone skirts and sat. This was an unusual development. The right hand was reserved for Draco, always had been. It was the honored spot where Father could display his model son proudly, where guests looked to see who was in favor and what personality was trying to be sold. Jezibell had never quite fit the demographics and in her jealous childhood developed a quiet loathing of the right hand. So, why -?

"So, forgive me, but you're something of a test subject now. Mother's cooking will be splendid as always, but she's working with a new sauce. Anything off about the flavor… Well, let's say that's a stroke for the garlic and onion."

Draco entered the room, Mr. Nott and son in tow. He had apparently been warned about the seating arrangements beforehand as he gave no sign of surprise that his was spoken for. Jezibell stood for the company out of ingrained courtesy, arching her neck a little more pointedly than necessary. Draco ushered the guests to their seats, and as Jezibell retook her – ah, _Draco's _she faced Mr. Nott.

Mr. Franklin Nott was middle aged by wizarding standards, meaning he was somewhere in his late nineties. It showed, in the balding white hair and ingrained wrinkles on his pasty forehead. Flesh flowed from his jowls that distorted the underlying slender structure, telling he lived a cushy life but not one requiring high standards of appearance. His profile resembled Theodore's in that they both had an elongated face and rabbit noses, but unlike his son's darting glance his eyes were mostly lost in skin folds narrowing to little peepholes from which he observed the girl set before him.

"Good evening, Miss Malfoy," He began as Theodore settled beside her. Jezibell would have been content to duck her head in reply, but a glance down the table to her mother said that wasn't going to cut it.

"Quite," She started but clammed up when Father claimed his seat. For better or worse, that was the last vocal activity she was required for the meal. Mostly the latter, given the main course turned out to be a la Jezibell.

"How are you getting on in your classes, Theodore? You and Jezibell share quite a few of them. I believe Potions? Yes, she has top marks."

"Are you admiring the new painting? You know, Jezibell has fair talent in the arts."

"Of course Draco has everything to be proud of in being the Seeker for Slytherin; he almost won the Cup this year. Jezibell nearly got on the team as well; she is a practiced flier. What position? Keeper, naturally, a good protection for the goals and a lady would never be involved with the more brutal game play."

"I hope you enjoy the meal, Frank, it was Jezibell's idea to use this spice, she quite the attribute in the kitchen."

"Yes, always helpful, she set the table for this evening," Father turned his head slightly to bestow a small paternal smile. It made Jezibell's skin crawl. The cosmetics in the upstairs bathroom may never touch her skin, but Mother's makeover proceeded as planned. Preening Jezibell's image into that of a demure center piece and yet somehow ignoring her as always. Jezibell did her best to detach from it all, block out the heavy face of Mr. Nott looming, Mother giggling, Draco grinning as the hideous dress caged and displayed her at the right hand of _that smile_. She entertained a sudden impulse to scream and jump on the table kicking glasses to the floor and flee to Emmy and her room with no lights or expectations, but disregarded it.

Eventually they grew bored with her and turn to the infinitely more invigorating conversation of work and social life. Father's voice carried on uncomfortably close to her about his latest successes in the ministry. Sole hope for escape lay in the clock, silver plated and emerald set, ticking in a lazy way that gutted Jezibell slowly. There was a magic time, about forty-five minutes to an hour after supper started, when one could make an excuse to retreat from the table with no intention of return and the action would go completely unnoticed. Presently it was barely ten minutes since Father sat down. It was quite a setback - after years of coming to terms with childish envy, Jezibell found fresh hatred for the right hand.

A tinkle of fine silver to the right served as a herald to her savior's arrival. It came in form of a brilliant stain of pumpkin juice that lit up the white table cloth and slapped her thigh with cold sticky orange. Theodore cursed and hastily reset his now empty goblet. He took his napkin off his lap, scrunched it and held it out to Jezibell's now ruined gown. Then he remembered their audience. "I… am terribly sorry, Jezibell, I didn't mean that."

"Oh dear, don't be," Mother smiled in fake flippantness while narrowing her eyes in a way that said _you-will-never-be-forgiven. _"It wasn't your fault, besides I can have that juice out in a jiffy."

"No," Jezibell stood up awkwardly as the wet patch squelched on her thigh, "I'd better change. I apologize, for interrupting, but it_ is_ pumpkin juice. It'll start to smell. With respect, Mother, may I be excused?"

What was she going to do? Rebuke such a sweetly phrased request? Not without undermining the whole angelic daughter bit.

"Very well, but –"

But Jezibell was already halfway up the stairs. Two hours and some change later, a light knuckled knock drummed her bedroom door. Jezibell didn't have look up from _100 Years_ for Emmy's appraisal.

"_It's Draco and he's excited, but not angry."_

_"You know how relieved I am," _Jezibell slipped the banned book under her pillow, "Entrez vous."

"Gratuitous French now does _not_ compensate for dinner," Draco gave her irritated look as he leaned on the wall across from her. He'd changed into muggle garb of a collared shirt and leather pants. Emmy was correct in saying he had something more intriguing than a chewing out on his mind. It took but a few seconds of patient silence to draw it forward, "I have a new pattern."

"Already?"

"Hey, you can't hold back genius. Besides, this one is going to need three."

"Is Theodore game?" Jezibell pressed the negative, presently not in the mood for anything but the _Time After Time_ series. She was getting to a good bit, where the Professor explains everything he thinks he knows right before a plot twist. The books got kind of formulaic after a while, but the characters were so interesting they could never bore her.

"Nott's not _not _game, which is good enough. His dad and Father locked themselves in the study about ten minutes ago and Mother's fixing her hair for bed. There's no better opportunity," He grinned with the little bit of adrenalin that came with knowingly doing what would make the rolls spring out of their mother's obsessively styled hair. If she ever knew, that lip would curl while nostrils flared as disapproval peered through made up eyelids down her nose and demanded _how dare they_. And just like that, Jezibell was in the mood.

"Give me two minutes."

He left her alone to don her second costume for the evening, a black shirt and pants ensemble. It occurred to her as she assured Emmy she'd be back before midnight that Theodore had with him only wizarding dress robes. Fine ones to be sure, smart pine green that worked well with his brown hair, but fashionably useless for skulking around rural Wiltshire. She twisted the handle of Draco's door lightly to alert them to her outside, finding knocking a bit conspicuous with Mother in the powder room one wall away.

Draco let her in, closing the door softly behind. His window was open and waiting with Theodore beside it. He'd been lent some clothes, a skull patterned shirt and a pair of corduroy pants about a size too short.

Jezibell raised an eyebrow, "Classy."

"I don't_ have_ to along with this," he muttered, not looking at her.

"Yes, you do. I'm keeping those dress robes hostage until we're done. They _have_ to be the only ones you own or you wouldn't wear them," Draco was perched on the windowsill grinning like a clever monkey who just pulled a fast one on an unsuspecting hiker, "Now you can't see the handholds, so watch where Jezibell and I put our feet."

"How do you see them?"

"We memorized ages ago," He shrugged himself outside, lowering his slight self gently onto an out of view ledge below, "Far as I know they've always been here, waiting for an incredible mind like me to find them."

His smirk disappeared past the sill into the twilight below.

"The discovery was made when he jumped out the window at six," Jezibell informed Theodore as she assumed Draco's position on the sill, "We think he was trying to fly."

"Unlucky," He smiled.

"We only have until midnight, you know!" Draco's voice jeered from below and Jezibell shimmied down the wall without further ado. Left, right, across-right, down, across left, swing, back-right, left, drop. Her boots hit the grass with stomp that shuddered and steadied. She looked up to see Theodore's progress. Despite his protests, he had been paying attention. He only missed one, the second back-step, and he found it on his own quick enough. Draco's smug grin only broadened when Theodore fell to his knees from two yards above ground. He gestured for the two to follow him.

"It's fastest to cut through the village, which will still take a bit, but once we're at the henge, I have some toys that'll make traveling out to the field a lot quicker," He explained for Theodore's benefit as they tramped down the low rolling hill. Grass turned to stone under their feet and the night was painted by the golden streetlamps of West Amesbury. Draco basked in their glow, hooking his belt cockily for the amusement of some teen girls passing by.

"Three guesses as to why we're _really_ cutting through the village," Theodore sniped, watching a girl with a miniskirt giggling to her friend. Draco ignored him, busy reclaiming his distain towards the twee muggle bungalows. Jezibell had long been bored with this step to the procedure and picked up her pace so Draco would have to do the same in order to stay at the head of their little pack. The trio followed the aptly name Stonehenge Road out of the village to the larger A303. Theodore became twitchy as fast smelly cars whizzed past them, at one point nearly jumped into Jezibell as beastly truck carrying manure trundled by. Before long the trio was joined by a trickle of muggles, most heading in the opposite direction. Nobody gave them more than a passing glance or snicker at Theodore's pants. They were wrapped entirely in their own little world, not caring they rubbed shoulders with magical minors. Of course after tonight some of them might be caring a bit more. The asphalt shrugged casually up word and their destination came into view.

"How do they_ not_ see it?" Theodore marveled. The odd thing about Stonehenge for a wizarding site is how blatant it was. There were no immediately visible magical protections or strong anti-muggle charms and it stuck out like, well, an ornate stone observatory at the intersection of two busy modern roads. There were even signs, advertising that this thing was an important landmark, Wonder of the World, mystery of England. It drew tourists from the world like a Lumos charm draws fireflies, dumbly moving in and around the attraction and flashing cameras to capture some of the nearly set sun. Then again, what their photographs would show and what was actually there were two very different things.

"It just looks like a pile of marked up old stone to them. That's what's left from Merlin before the Norman Conquest. It's a brilliant spot for astrology and spells that need specific shadow and times so the druids who controlled it weren't keen on giving it up. Clovis Malfoy let the Celts keep their boulders and mounds so long as we got to install our observatory on the same ground. A few centuries of clever war later the druids were forced back into Wales and this place has been with the family since. We never got rid of the old stuff because it's convenient way to keep rivals from bumbling into our design," Draco said.

"Did I ask for the history lesson?" Theodore grumbled and Draco ignored him, striding over to a small ramp that lead up to the walkway that circled the building.

"Typical muggles," Draco sneered, "Putting a stinking fence up and charging people money like _they_ own it."

"Why do they bother with it? Muggles can't leave anything be. If according to them it's a bunch of stupid rocks, why not cart them off and use the land for something useful?"

"They must think it's still worth something," Draco said, "Evidently they're right, since the morons pay a Galleon and half to see it."

But despite Draco's griping, the real deal in the set-up was for the wizards. Unbeknownst to the muggles raking the notes in, much of the gold the paper represented went to Malfoy family who owned the rocks, the observatory and the benefits. This is why the collectors didn't give either of their landowners a second glance when Jezibell and Draco strolled through the gate. One bored looking man did try to reproach Theodore until Jezibell said he was with them.

Face to face with the observatory's curving wall, it began to lose substance. Arched carvings of planets and orbits crumbled around them until all that was left were the relics of misshapen rock. A few stacked lengthwise like a fallen house of cards, but most just plopped in odd semicircles right where the astronomy pit should be. Jezibell watched Theodore tip his head back to stare where sphere shaped rocks had been rotating suspended above moments before, seeing no more than a muggle could.

"That is mad," he muttered, "We should be inside it."

"It exists in a different part of space, like Diagon Alley or nine and three-quarters. A whole street full of wizards, shops and a bank doesn't fit into a back alley of London without powerful inside expansion and displacement charms," Jezibell explained as the trio navigating around the druid handiwork and people who paid them as much mind as the stone did.

"I know how _that_ works, but the platform and the alley are more tucked away. These two, the real Stonehenge and the one from the druids, they're practically on top of each other," Theodore turned around as they reached the other side, confirming his statement as the outer wall reappeared perfectly tangible.

"They are," Draco corrected, "Clovis really was just showing off when he came up with the system. This is a sweet spot, but there's no point in cutting it this close. Except, of course, demonstrating that non-Malfoys are on such a lower level that our achievement can literally surround them and they will never know it without permission."

"So how do you get permission?"

Jezibell looked at her brother for an answer. They had never brought a guest to the Henge without parental supervision before. She wasn't entirely certain the blood rite would work, since they were still underage. Draco returned her look with one of 85% certainty before replying to Theodore, "You ask."

They were now approaching what the muggles called heelstone, a boulder squatting in a low roped off section a few feet from the road to the right of the entrance. It was just outside the building itself and appeared as they faced it for the entire world a worn ugly bit of rock. The door was circular, shaped by plates of metal rigidly interlocked in coiling designs that could be snakes or orbits. Most of the tourists were heading back to their cars and buses at this point since it was too dark for proper photographs anymore. Nobody paid the slightest mind as Draco marched up to the heelstone.

The Guardian in dormant form resembled a bulldog with its head mashed in from the sides. The expression dopey from erosion, giving the impression it was failing to look past the end of its nose. Not good traits for what was supposed to a vigil protector. Draco took out a small knife – barely sizable to cut a peapod, but sharp enough to cleave a diamond clean - nicked his thumb and drew an untidy Malfoy crest with the resulting blood. He pressed this thumb to what could be called the nose of heelstone, murmuring the Malfoy motto. _Nos es unos. _We are one.

Immediately the shape and texture smoothed and cleared itself like dough being kneaded over. The vague mammalian head stretched and yawned into that of a serpent, visible only from the neck up. The new form rolled its eye to focus on Draco and Jezibell with tedium, but when it spotted Theodore perked up as much as a reptilian face can.

"I am the guardian of the Stonehenge," The jaws gurgled out the words in appropriate gravel tone, "To pass you must answer these questions three. First: _What…_ is your name?"

"Theodore Nott," he answered reflexively.

"Second: _What_ … is your quest?"

"Eh, to enter –"  
"Don't encourage it," Jezibell chastised.

"What?"

Draco then stamped Theodore's palm with the bloody thumb in the business air of a Gringotts goblin clerk, befuddling him further, "Ok, guardian of comedy, he bears the crest of your masters. May we enter some time tonight?"

"Oh, you're no fun anymore," The Guardian flicked its tongue at him impetuously. Behind it the metal began to dance and with an artful flurry of clicking magical locks, the stone shell prized open.

"That one is going to need a memory wipe very soon," Draco rolled his eyes as they entered, "Or a good crossword puzzle. A bored guardian will pick up all kinds of rubbish if left around muggles long enough and I think it's last complete cleanse was sometime in the 60s."

Jezibell tapped a resting candle on the wall. It became animated and levitated to above the door, sparking itself into flame. At this cue the others sitting atop shelves and in holders did the same, kissing the edges of the room with light. The inner walls of the observatory were painted deep dusky indigo, a color that grew subtly darker as night fell outside. The building was open roof and the hanging stone orbs for which the site was named whirled massively around each other in the air ten feet above, representing planets and their moons. Gold instruments for calculating positions hung lightly on sensitive little hooks. Walls fitted with wooden honeycombs were filled with tubes of parchment from generations of astronomers scribbling their findings. Great moving maps were drawn up on the floor that contorted a universe of celestial bodies into flowing waves of glitter and gridlines with little arrows squirming between the specks. Jezibell watched Theodore bend down in curiosity and prod a small pulsing red dot at the tip of his shoe that at his touch filled half the floor with the image of an erupting supernova.

"Watch it!" Draco snapped, making a sweeping gesture to bring the dying star back to proper size, "We're not here to play with the scholars' stuff. Father hates it if it's not perfect for them when they come. Got to keep the illusion they're getting their money's worth, after all. You two look at the pretty lights while I go down to the archives and get what we need so we can get out before Murphy's Law kicks in."

He left for the descending steps to the extended storage below, the shellac in his hair shiny in the candlelight.

"Bet he wouldn't be such a prick if it weren't for those leather pants," Theodore sounded miffed.

"A common misconception - it's not the pants, it's the shoes," Jezibell said and he chuckled. Theodore rolled his dress shoes to cover the star in sleek black. Without putting much thought to it, she sidestepped into the center of a disk shaped galaxy. Theodore responded by hopscotching to an adjacent star cluster. His motion echoed preschool chalk games. She jumped to a spiral, balancing on her left foot. Throw the pebble, skip one-two. He caught her eye for a second.

"Ok, we're good to go!" Draco called as his shoes stamped a staccato up the stairs.

"Premium leather," murmured Theodore as Draco emerged with the provisions. Three large death black cloaks were slung across his arm. He tossed one to each of them.

"You wanted some cooler clothes?"

Jezibell caught hers and flinched at the literal chill that excited her fingertips.

"Just because Parkinson finds your jokes funny doesn't mean they are," said Theodore. Jezibell slipped the material over her shoulders. It felt like silk, but much less substantial, and icy like Draco pulled it out of a snow bank. Not a bad thing considering the hot July night. As she lowered the hood a freezing sensation wriggled down her spine. She was ready to fly.

"What is this stuff?" Theodore was holding his at arms-length, cautiously poking it to watch the fabric ripple like rain running down a street.

"Cloaks from dead dementors," Draco did the clasp on his calmly, "Go ahead, put it on."

"You cannot be serious."

"Don't worry, everyone looks good in black."

"Shut up," Jezibell cuffed the back of her brother's head (the Sleekazy's potion made this unpleasant for both of them), "It's safe. We couldn't be traveling to the fields and back in a night otherwise. Besides, it's worth it."

"Yeah, I'll dress up in a soul sucker's garb for vandalism. Totally worth my while," He said sarcastically.

"Stop acting like your grandmother," Draco regained his swagger and took out three bluestones from his pocket, "I'm beginning to think you haven't got what it takes to handle one of _these_."

Theodore's expression went sour, but he pulled the robe over his head without complaint. So that was why he put up with Draco's crap. Draco promised him a bluestone.

Bluestone was a handy substance in the magical world to have access to. In addition to the healing properties and charm life enhancement, it was an excellent conductor for magical energy. Before using bits of fantastic beasts became popular, bluestone was often set in staffs and belts to increase power. Now the material was outmoded and largely disregarded by the wizarding community in favor of more powerful and precise organic wands. By itself the bluestone was fairly useless for complex incantation, but a galleon-sized chunk when squeezed could release and receive a light pulse. It was enough to level a few hundred yards of crop at most; nothing that would brush the underage wizardry radar. But when it came to messing with the local muggle population that was all you really needed.

They each got a bit that fit in the palm of their hands. Draco gave Theodore and Jezibell a copy of his latest design, a large eye, including what points on the field they were to stand at and move to coordinate it all properly. It was all plotted down to the yard, a thoroughness not often seen from Draco and his leather pants.

Jezibell decided not to wait for the rest of Draco's exposition on the bluestones and how their powers would be used tonight. She tucked the parchment into her pants pocket and used the cloak's slight levitating ability to leap ten feet up onto the open roof. Once outside, breeze caught the cloak. She rose up onto her toes in the light current, looking north to her destination, or so said the map. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet for a moment, savoring it. Then she jumped.

Technically, it wasn't flying. The cloak carried her only about fifty yards into the air with a good start and it was just enough to get her past the initial grass around the Henge. But it was so, so brilliant. Shame it wasn't legal. Her boots brushed the tips of grain, the beginning of the ocean of crop that was Salisbury Plain. She dove, the slick cloak parting the stalks without a rustle. A few swift leaps and she got a good speed. The cloak wove her through the blades like a shadow, fluid and invisible. Dementor cloaks repelled substance, like a magnet met with the opposite side of another. This trick of zipping at speeds that would make a Firebolt jealous wouldn't work on an open road, but in the forest of wheat to bounce off of Jezibell had little more to do than steer. The wheat to the right was buffeted suddenly as Draco's laugh flew past. That didn't take long. Then there was a second stirring as another shadow clipped her on the shoulder as _Theodore_ overtook her too. Oh, it's on now.

Using the bluestone to channel magic down, Jezibell blew herself about fifteen feet in the air. Just in time, they were coming onto a road and Jezibell simply glided over the cars, red and white lights like schools of luminescent fish below. She continued coasting, occasionally catching glimpses of Draco and Theodore alongside her. Not long after, she spotted the cubes of light shining from a farm in the near distance.

"This is it!" Draco's voice called from up ahead. Jezibell tugged the cloak around her and promptly dropped. She took out the map and peered at it by the light of the moon. Draco had marked where the barn was on it and Jezibell was approximately twenty paces to left of where she should be. She sighed irritably and tromped the dictated steps. This part of making Draco's patterns was always rather tedious. Once in position, she squeezed her bluestone and let up a small blip of white light. Across the field to her right came another and, after a moment's hesitation, it echoed again to the left. Let the fun begin.

A second light glimmered from the right. _Whoosh._ The wheat rustled as though a large animal was running towards her. Jezibell was ready with the bluestone as the energy rush came to the last stalk. The rock absorbed it with a brief warm pulse and released a glob of white light. Jezibell turned where the left signal came from, she guessed its sender was Theodore. She flicked her wrist like she was skipping a rock and let the hot flare of power escape through her arm. _Whoosh. _The grain was cleaved like parting hair to reveal a black mass of shadow at the end. A ball of white light flew up from the shadow and Jezibell used the time to get to her next receiving point, where she shot up another white light. _Whoosh. _

They danced through the dark. Threading through increasingly thin wheat and flinging wild magic while not five hundred yards from a muggle residence. No wonder the muggles thought the patterns were made by aliens. Under the dementor cloak whispering warm light, Jezibell felt like one. This particular design was fairly complex, compared to some of Draco's others at least. What looked like a giant eye on paper were three thick circles that weren't much trouble. Most of the real work was in the long crisscrossing angles in the middle. When it was done, the three congregated in the center circle of cleared wheat to admire their creation.

"How do you tell if we got it right?" asked the shade with Theodore's voice.

"We'll find out tomorrow," said Draco's voice from another, "There's usually something in the muggle paper. If any aeroplane goes over it'll look like a giant eye staring at them, this one's bound to be featured."

"Unlike the giant dumbbell," Jezibell said.

"That was _practice_," Draco's voice sulked. A pale hand appeared with a watch. "We got about an hour before you have to leave, but we should head back now."

So they did. The journey was quicker and less exciting than the one out. When they reached the Henge, Draco stowed the toys away and started the slow walk up the A303. Jezibell was in less of a hurry to return to the manor and Mother. She climbed up to the open roof and used the cloak to jump onto a moon of Uranus. Unlike the others, Uranus rotated vertically and it carried Jezibell up. Just as her legs were getting tired of the crouched position, she leaped again and grabbed the slim ring of Jupiter. She climbed up the stone, the rough soles of her boots coming in handy. On top of the planet, Jezibell settled cross legged and gazed out across the fields, trying to spot the bald patch in the distance but it was invisible behind waves of grain. Jupiter spun slow and tranquil as faster smaller moons whirled around their king. Jezibell undid lower clasp and let the dementor cloak blow halfway off her shoulders, a black banner of night reaching out to its brethren.

Uranus gamboled into her view below, a juggler trotting past in its unique Ferris wheel style. On one of spheres a large dark shape was flapping about akin to a wounded crow. Jezibell slid down to the Jupiter's ring as the figure came around and held out her hand. Theodore's appeared and she took it, bracing herself between the ring and planet to pull him up. He jackknifed into the gap, mimicking her position and lowered the hood.

"Thanks," he said quietly, trying to hide how out of breath he was from the climb.

Jezibell took down her hood too and nodded in assent. She went into an upright fetal position and resumed her staring into the night.

"So," Theodore went on, "When did you and Draco decide to break into the public art market?"

"Year before last. It was Draco's idea and last year I tagged along."

"How come you never took me to the Henge before?"

"We weren't allowed until we turned eleven, and _that_ year…"

"That year," he echoed with a sigh. They were quiet for a bit, Jezibell thinking back to the summer before that year. Theodore, her and Draco in the yard, under a tree fiddling with a three dimensional puzzle of a chimera, watching Emmy stalk a baby peacock and exchanging stories of Hogwarts. Plotting what they would do in twelve months when they were in Slytherin together. They planned to be the first to find and keep track of the legendary Room of Requirement. According to what Theodore's father said, anything you could imagine would appear in it. Shelves full of all the things they hadn't gotten for birthdays and a whole wall devoted to Dragonsnaps. A stock of proper professional brooms and a ceiling so high it had clouds for them to fly through. A house elf to do their homework and a litter of snake-cats that Emmy could have a family. They would rule the school, and if anybody else discovered the room Emmy and her new family would make sure they kept quiet.

"What happened?" He stared at her, expecting an answer.

"It wasn't my fault."

"Sure," He blew hair off his forehead, resentfully. "You could've posted me that you wouldn't be coming. I found out on the Hogwarts Express."

"Sorry."

"Sure." He repeated. Jezibell pushed her knees further into her chest numbly. A warm apologetic hand sat on her shoulder, "But we can get things back to how they should be."

Jezibell looked into his face, his squaring cheekbones and sprouts of facial hair. "Theodore, it's been three years. Things changed."

"I didn't say they had to be exactly the same." His eyes widened, the whites sickle moons around large dark pupils. The hand on her shoulder cupped the back of her head and his face loomed forward. He kissed her.

_No. _Jezibell elbowed him across his chest, whacking his head back with her arm. She vaulted over the ring, crunching her knees onto neighboring Neptune. She skidded off, the pain only reaching her in the peripheral, and dropped heavily into the astronomy pit. Galaxies and star clusters inflated under her boots. She ripped off the dementor cloak fully and tossed it into a corner where it merged with shadow. That would be cleaned up later. She ran, out the door past the guardian through the gates onto the street, away. A little ways into Amesbury, she ran out of breath. A bench, outside the Parish Church, was empty. She sat and breathed and didn't think for a while.

"I put away the cloak," He said from behind her, "And fixed the star chart. I think I may have messed up the lion constellation."

"Leave."

"Fine," He huffed, "I get the message. But what I don't get is _what your problem is. _Yeah, I kissed you. People do. And they don't try to kill the other when it happens to them. If you don't want me then fine. You didn't have to shove me into Mars to say so."

"Jupiter," Jezibell closed her eyes. Go away.

"Whatever the hell." He growled. Jezibell's kneecaps stung badly. She tucked up her legs, making it worse, and rested her forehead on them. "And don't think I don't know. About dinner and what your parents were trying to pull."

Jezibell looked around at him through her bangs. _What? _

_"_Oh, come off it. Even if they didn't tell you, you're smart enough for this. The seat next to your father, the way they kept going on about you. That dress that made you look like..." He didn't complete the thought, going a bit pink in the streetlight, "They were marketing you. To me."

The idea was so horrifying Jezibell rejected it at first. But then logic kicked in. The letter last year, Mother worried her little Jezibell was finding relationships at school. Matches were never made so accidentally for their kind. There was a very select pool for pure of blood and pocketbook that once a Malfoy becomes of age, around six or seventeen, she is expected to fish from. Jezibell had thought these troubles were several years from her, enough time to plot an escape, but it seemed she rather underestimated the fears of a high society harpy. No, harpies were too good for that woman. Now she had pulled Theodore into her imaginary vortex of drama.

"Good thing you figured it out then," Jezibell said carefully, "So you don't fall for what _they_ fabricated and we can do what we like."

"No, you still aren't getting it," Theodore leaned on the back of the bench, facing away from her, "Even if you reject me no, they're going to keep trying with you until they find someone they'll _make_ work. You could do a lot worse than me. Actually, you could do a lot better too. They tried this match-maker thing with me first not because my father's got a vault full of gold or that he's at all influential, but because they knew we were already friends. They were being nice."

"You're right. I should thank them for the attempt at respecting my personal feelings by setting me up with a childhood friend from whom I moved on entirely. They clearly have my best interest at heart," Jezibell sneered nastily.

"What is your _problem_?" He demanded again, "This was going to happen eventually. And it's not like you have a better option. Or do you? Is that it, you really _are_ Harry Potter's new girlfriend."

"_Leave_," She snarled, having no wish to go through this Mount Everest of troll crap again.

"No, I've figured it now. You're the rebellious princess. You're not rejecting me because you don't like me or wouldn't be happy with me, you just reject conforming to whatever being a good little Malfoy entails on principle. I happen to be something your parents would be alright with, and the minute you realized that you couldn't stand me. If they suddenly decided those combat boots were the last word in fashion, you'd ditch those too. You hang out with the Potter pals not because you like them any better but because they make you _special_. Nobody twisted you're arm to play the misfit in second year. You just did it because it makes you feel so much above than the rest of us, but really you're just like your brother strutting around in leather pants. I bet you asked the Sorting Hat to make you Gryffindor!"

"You're right," Jezibell repeated, standing up stiffly as her kneecaps defied the motion, "I did. I wanted change. And you're exactly the same."

He didn't follow her this time.

* * *

_Draco Malfoy _

Draco fell onto his swan feathered bed, exhausted and exhilarated from the match. The night's game had been phenomenal, nothing in his previous World Cup experiences could compare. He could still hear the Irish celebrating their victory in the distance. The team had utterly out flown the competition, even though Draco himself had been rooting for the Bulgarians. In his opinion Victor Krum won. His capture of the snitch proved he bested over the Irish seeker and it ended the match on his terms. And he did with blood spurting from his nose. _Awesome_.

Draco glanced at the identical richly furnished mattress beside him, whose occupant was staring sleeplessly at the ceiling. He could tell her thoughts were far from the World Cup. It was the same look of quiet envy that she had given the redheaded wonders, the Weasley family, as they passed by them on their way to the stadium. He knew there were few things she wouldn't give to be bunking in their shabby, secondhand tent right now.

As the excitement of the evening began to wear off Draco slipped into a doze, chasing around half-dreams of flying like Krum and winning like the Irish. Fans tugged on his emerald green robes as he alighted to the ground with the captive snitch in his hand. The tugging was getting quite annoying as he tried to land. He felt a sharp jerk at which he wheeled around to tell the persistent fan to cut it out. Draco's eyes popped open to see an irritable Jezibell roughly nudging him awake.

"WHAT?" he yelled furiously, "I am _trying _to SLEEP!" Jezibell let go of his pajamas and glared at him coolly.

"Death Eaters."

Draco's anger melted to shock. Jezibell's non-expression told him all he needed to know, but he asked her anyway. "Father?"

Jezibell nodded grimly.

"Where's Mother?"

"She left to talk sense into him before the ministry representatives get organized. She told me to wake you and we should go to the forest so we won't get hit by accident."

Hit? By what precisely? Jezibell was already at the door of the silken tent so these queries would have to be postponed. Draco slipped to the robe hanging on his mahogany bedpost and followed her outside.

It was mayhem. Screams and shouts colored the night air from burning tents in the distance, the smoke from the bonfires created a haze over the grounds so the hooded figures making their way around them were hard to see. Hard, but not impossible. Jezibell motioned to him to keep his hood down as they crept around the part of the grounds still sleepily oblivious to the chaos across the grassy lot. The forest was an ideal hiding place from the masked men and Draco and Jezibell slipped behind the nearest pine tree a little ways into the thicket. This way no one would find them and they should have good enough view of outbreak to know when it stopped. Some of the Death Eaters had gotten hold of the muggle who owned the campsite. They levitated him and his family high above trees so the twins could see them clearly and began to flip and spin them like puppets under an inadequate master. Making circles.

More people had noticed the Death Eater attack and many were now fleeing into the woods. Shadowy figures rushed by the twins as people discovered the sanctuary it provided. Jezibell pulled Draco by the back of his cloak into the shade so the panicked wizards wouldn't spot the Death Eater's children in the half light.

"Yow!" A sharp cry of pain sounded a few yards from where they stood making both of them flinch.

A girl's anxious voice cried_ "Lumos!"_

Wand light shattered the dark. Ronald Weasley lay on the forest floor, his lanky form stretched out a good two meters, the toe of his trainer caught on the appendage of a mighty oak.

"Tripped over a tree root," he growled as the anxiety riddled Hermione Granger came into view along with the Great Harry Potter Himself.

"With feet in that size, hard not to," smirked Draco, unable to help himself. He felt Jezibell's glare boring into the back of his head as the trio, Weasley back on his canoe-like feet, turned abruptly to face them. Weasley said a very nasty something that would have put Crabbe's four letter vocabulary to shame.

"Go," Jezibell intervened, "Deeper into the woods; it's safer."

"Yeah," said Draco, obligated to help but also not wanting to be conspicuous about it, "hadn't you be hurrying along? You don't want her to be spotted, do you?"

He nodded at Granger just as a blast of green light lit the trees, emphasizing his point.

"Hermione is in no more danger then the rest of us," said Potter aggressively, "She's a witch!"

"Suit yourself, Potter," Draco countered casually, "if you don't think they can spot a mudblood you can just stay where you are."

"Shut up!" hissed Jezibell and then said to her friends, "Stay off the path and take cover by a tree."

"Shouldn't we stick together? Strength in numbers," suggested Granger and Draco cringed internally at the thought. Weasley uneasily shuffled. He didn't like the idea any more then Draco did.

"We'll be fine." stated Jezibell firmly. Another screaming body rushed past in the darkness.

It took a few more subtle hints and nonchalant reverse psychology to convince them, but Potter eventually made the executive to keep moving. But instead of groveling after his master, Weasley paused to give Draco a long measuring look.

"You want to take picture," Draco smoothed out his silk pajamas sarcastically.

"Are your socks… _pink?"_ Weasley squinted at his feet.

Draco had a feeling it wasn't just the socks anymore.

"You aren't one to be critiquing other people's footwear, _Weasley_," he gestured at the redhead's tennis shoes that had met their life expectancy three hand-me-downs ago.

But it was too little too late for his dignity. Potter looked back and coughed a laugh, "Oh my god, Jez, you were actually serious."

Granger was simply confused. "What are you – "

"But why would you keep them? You got rid of wrecked pajamas." Potter asked incredulously.

"They're still good socks," Draco shrugged.

"That are _pink_," sniggered Weasley.

"And mold themselves perfectly to my feet," Draco protested, "My mother paid good money for these socks. More than yours has spent in -

"Are those the Woolskins brand?" Granger interrupted, "The ones with the self-dry cleaning function?"

"Yes," Draco answered amiably before remembering himself, "I mean,_ no_. What -?"

"_That's_ why those ones you got me for Christmas always smell like pine," Potter said to Jezibell.

"What happened to you losers fleeing to safety?" Draco demanded, a bit more loudly than he'd intended. The others shut up and when they did the yells and screams of the riot filled their ears, louder than before.

"They're coming this way," Granger announced. Potter and Weasley sobered.

"Leave." Jezibell ordered in laconic. The losers flew. Once they were gone, she gave him a look that said you-will-never-be-forgiven.

"That was not my fault," he whispered, "_You_ decided to document my closet in your _love-_letters and play Father Mudmas with the Weasleys."

"For the love of socks," She muttered and crouched on crunchy leaves that coated the base of the tree. Draco went quiet, listening to the calls of drunken men and wondering which one was his father's. Jezibell stared at the levitated muggles like a cat transfixed by string. Like a normal cat would, not like a certain hybrid who nearly took off Draco's hand when he tried that trick with her. The muggle woman was being turned upside down so her knickers showed in a blur of pink and white. They stayed in the shelter of the oak, waiting for the riot's end. Draco played with a stick to pass the time, guessing underage magic wasn't one of the Ministry's top priorities at the moment.

"Engorgio", bigger stick.

"Reducio", smaller stick. It didn't matter how much you magicked it, the stick was still knobby and brown.

Just as Granger divined, the long procession of smoking cackling hoods was moving steadily in their direction. They wore masks, like the one in Father's study, silver skulls with impersonal eyes. The idea of being the Death Eater kids seemed like such good life insurance five minutes ago. Draco and Jezibell moved as stealthily as they could over the dry leaves and twigs, quickly putting distance between themselves and the masquerade. They were heading the way that Potter had gone and it was quieter here in this section of the woods. The trees were thicker and in the darkness it was hard to tell exactly which direction they had come in.

But they were not lost. At all. The idea of being lost is ridiculous and they were in no way, shape or form lost. Draco twisted around abruptly to look back the way they came. The sounds of the campsite were faded into the distance and the tree trunks were thick and densely packed. There could have been a mountain troll two feet in front of them and they wouldn't have noticed.

"We're lost," announced Jezibell.

Draco wanted to give his sister a good kick for destroying his small, tender planet of serenity. But fluffy pink socks, while they make delightfully awkward conversation, are rubbish for kicking, so he did it another way. "If we are, it's your fault. 'Let's go _deeper_ into the large labyrinthian woods.' _Brilliant_. What will be our next move, Oh Wise Leader?"

A sudden cry made him break off. A shout, not far from where they stood frozen, echoed in the silent wood, "_MORSMODRE!" _

It was hard to tell. The trees made a leafy canopy that obstructed sight, Draco felt sure he saw a shot of emerald spell-craft dart into the air. Morsmodre… rang a bell…

"To run," said Jezibell sharply, her breath speeding up like a cornered rabbit under a hawk's shadow.

"Where? I thought you got us _lost,_" Draco failed to see what she was so agitated about. Then the deathly still wood erupted in screams. The cacophony made the already blurred shadows even more confusing. Jezibell grabbed his hand and yanked him through bracken and decaying mulch, her longer legs making it difficult for him to keep up. Little popping noises, like a bunch of soap bubbles bursting, surrounded them. Apparitions indistinguishable in the night, they could have been ministry representatives or Death Eaters. Or both. Jezibell's grip was vice-like. Her nails dug into his wrist and his nose hit the musty ground.

**"**STUPEFY!**" **

Ok, they were from the ministry. Red light flared around them for a few seconds. Draco hoped some of the casters would hit each other by mistake. Teach them right. Somebody yelled something about fifty meters to the right of them and the firing halted. A pair of non-amused wizards appeared on either side of them. The one to the right prodded Draco up right, more harshly than necessary.

"Gerroff," He dusted himself off, "Do you know who my father is?"

"We know exactly who your father is, Malfoy brat," said the slight wizard to his left. He was old and deformed, a wide scar dragging down his face to one side. An Auror. Draco's mouth went very dry and he licked his lips nervously.

"Good," he managed. The Auror herded them over to meet the other people that had been shot at. The ministry wizards flanked them like some sort of guard, but made no more moves to touch either of the twins. Once they were in the clearing, Draco could see the cause of the chaos. A brilliant green skull design was sitting against the black sky with a writhing serpent protruding from its mouth, identical to the tattoo on his father's forearm. Beautiful and terrifying, the Dark Mark was a true work of art. But why was it here?

The other captives were Potter, Weasley and Granger. They were being fiercely interrogated by Mr. Balding-Has-Been-Crouch and Amos Scruffy-Neighbor-To-Arthur-Weasley-Diggory. The second Draco and Jezibell stepped into the grouping there was a perceivable change in the atmosphere. You could see it on their faces; Crouch and Diggory wore different degrees of tentative anticipation and certain triumph. Ah ha! they thought, Here are people we can put a reasonable blame on. Potter and Pals looked surprised and worried. Draco was just the former. What was His Holiness Harry Potter here for? The people gathered around the edges of the clearing wore expressions similar to the muggles in the Witch Hunt chapters in a _History of Magic_. They, too, knew exactly who his father was.

Crouch stepped forward, his mouth a line of grim satisfaction. Draco took a few quick paces backward, wondering if he would be able outrun the ministry people. Jezibell shifted her weight and leaned diagonally across him. Her shoulders tensed and her right hand hovered over her wand-pocket, like she could do anything against a ministry rep.

"So the former Death Eater's spawn found at the scene of the Dark Mark," said Crouch, "coincidence, do you think?"

"You saw where we were found," Jezibell said loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the clearing, "Nowhere near the casting point."

"We found you running, fleeing the scene of the crime-"

"As opposed to rest of the law-abiding campsite," She said snidely and Draco resisted the urge to edge away from her. There is a time and a place for sarcasm, Sis. Now is not it. Crouch looked like he was preparing to spit fire. She was saved from his international wrath when one of the scouts who had been sent to search the wood returned. He had a friend with him. A little female house-elf lay unconscious in his arms. In the elf's limp right hand was a wand. Mr. Crouch's face was the color of old milk which could mean one of two things. Either he had eaten a funny whelk for breakfast cooked on a muggle fire, or the elf was _his._

The scout dumped the elf at Crouch's feet and without further ado, Crouch stormed off into the woods. Draco had to smirk at the hypocritical old fool. He could prosecute the Malfoys as much as he liked, but there was no denying the skeletons rattling hiscloset. Across the yard, the Golden trio was hyperventilating. Granger had her shivering fingers over her mouth like she was trying not to cry out. Weasley gaze was fixed on the Mark. Oddly, Potter seemed to be giving Draco a reassuring look. Wait, no that was probably intended for just Jezibell. Of course. Crouch came back, predictably, empty handed. Mr. Weasley and Diggory were arguing now, could a House-Elf have produced such a strong spell wandless?

"Ah," interjected the scout, "but she did have a wand, here." He passed the finely carved wooden object forward. The windbags wheezed. Clause Three of the something-something this, shame on Barty Crouch that. Blah blah, blah blah blah blah _blah_. Jezibell eased off her protective stance and Draco relaxed his urge to run. Now that they weren't in danger of being carted off to Azkaban, he just wanted to go back to his down-upholstered bed. Father would explain everything worth knowing later, all this discussion between ministry representatives was boring.

Diggory was trying to get a confession out of the elf now. She hugged her skinny knees and wailed, pathetically going to pieces as Diggory interrogated her.

"I is not doing it! I is not knowing how! I is a good House-Elf!" she squealed her grammatically challenged pleas. Diggory waved the wand furiously in her tearstained face, emphasizing some point he had made. The wand caught the glittery green light of the Dark Mark as it sailed inches from the elf's nose. It looked kind of familiar.

"Hey, that's mine!"

Draco and Jezibell's heads whipped around in unison to see a dumbfounded Harry Potter gazing at the acclaimed wand.

"Excuse me?" said Diggory, his professional manner preventing him from saying something on the lines of "Oh shit!"

"That's my wand," Potter clarified, "I dropped it!"

Oh, well that clears it all up. This just kept getting better and better.

"You _dropped _it? Is this a confession? You threw your wand aside after you conjured the Dark Mark?"

Yes, that's right, Mr. Diggory. Harry-Boy-Who-Lived-Chosen-Savior-Of-Us-All-Next-Messiah Potter cast the Dark Lords trademark symbol. Have fun holding up that one in Wizengamot. Mr. Weasley gave him a similar message of exasperation to the one in Draco's head and Diggory backed off sheepishly.

"I didn't drop it over there, anyway." said Potter, gesturing towards the area where the elf had been found, "I had missed it right after we got into the wood."

Diggory recovered from his brief moment of shame and started accusing the tiny House-Elf again. If he kept on her like this, he would have to _ennervate_ her again.

"It wasn't her!" Granger piped up."Winky has a squeaky voice, the one we heard doing the incantation was much deeper."

Granger's own trembled before the solemn adults in the clearing. Weasley and Potter backed her protest loyally but it didn't make much of a difference. Diggory's _Prior Incantato _revealed all the information the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures needed. After the ghostly apparition of the Dark Mark faded away, the Ministry representatives argued some more about what the elf's fate would be. Ministry representatives don't generally do much else.

Draco was starting to worry about where their parents were. Surely Mother found Father by now? They couldn't be in any trouble. If they had been caught by ministry people, word would have been sent to the clearing. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy didn't usually fret over the whereabouts of their children, but maybe they would be bound to be getting worried about Draco and Jezibell by now. If they didn't go back to the campsite soon, would Mother come looking for them? Would it be a good thing for Mother to come to the scene of the Dark Mark? Jezibell must have been thinking along the same lines,

"They won't let us go back to the campsite until this is sorted," she muttered, "It'll be easier to wait out."

Draco nodded, trusting her to plan.

"She will be punished," said Crouch, in reference to the sniveling elf huddled at his feet. The man was apoplectic with the shame of her public disobedience. There was only one thing to be done. "Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have thought possible. I told her to remain in the tent and stay out of trouble. And now, to find she has disobeyed me. This means clothes."

At the last word Winky let out a howl of denial, "Not clothes Master! No! No, Master!"

Neither Draco nor Jezibell had witnessed a house-elf sacking before. Their old one, Dobby, had been tricked from his father by Harry Potter (Though Draco suspected Jezibell's involvement too). It was a very personal and messy business, doing it publicly was like hanging out your dirty laundry. Whatever that meant.

"But she was _frightened_!" cried Granger in another futile attempt to help the elf's lost cause, "Your elf is scared of heights, those wizard were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of the way!"

Once again, the mudblood's thin voice shook with barely concealed stage-fright and Draco felt unexpectedly sorry for the piteously sobbing creature that had no true shield against her master's rejection. It was like watching a puppy being kicked.

Jezibell plucked at the sleeve of Draco's robe. Now that everyone was turned the other way it was their cue to slip out of the crowd unnoticed. She guided him through the gathering of people. They barely registered their passing, too focused on the drama of Crouch's elf. The twins were adept in keeping their heads down when necessary.

They reached the edge of the clearing and found the post-riot wood much easier to navigate then the dusky, panicky maze. The fires had gone out and the smoky haze cleared so the forestry was thinner and less intimidating. The campsite was easily discernible through the partings of the trees, illuminated by sickly green light of the mark overhead. Draco walked behind his sister, over crackling leaves to the melting ice cake of a tent. Winky's wails were replaced by the harsh whispers of fighting parents as they slipped inside.


End file.
